Harry Potter and the Child of Phoenix
by lowdergirlversion2.0
Summary: 6th year. PostOOTP. Harry is still dealing with the events in June when another prophecy comes to light. 6th year is all about action, intrigue, drama, and a suspiciously quiet Voldemort. All that and an emotional journey of selfdiscovery for Harry.
1. Prologue

Prologue

In an ordinary house on an ordinary street in an ordinary town lived a boy who was not so ordinary. He was a wizard and his name was Harry Potter. Yes, _that_ Harry Potter. You will have heard the story of course, how the dark wizard Voldemort rose to power, causing death and destruction, striking fear in the hearts of decent witches and wizards everywhere. And you will have heard how sixteen years ago, it was prophesied that a boy would be born, the same Harry Potter, who would possess the power to vanquish Voldemort. And how Voldemort, seeking to prevent this prophecy from coming to pass, attacked the Potters in their own home. But Harry's mother died to save her infant son, covering him with a protective charm so strong that Voldemort's curse reflected off the boy and back onto him, leaving him weak, powerless, and all but dead, while little Harry was healthy and whole, with only a scar to show he'd ever been attacked.

And with that failed assault, Voldemort's reign of terror was brought to an end and Harry was sent to his nonmagical, ordinary aunt and uncle, who raised him as a nonmagical, ordinary boy. It wasn't until his eleventh birthday that he learned the truth of who he was, and what he was and that fall he embarked on a new life at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had spent five years at the school, all the while learning things about himself he never knew, growing in knowledge and power. And along the way he had made friends, and lost them, and fought against Voldemort in various guises before witnessing his ultimate return to his previous body.

It was now summer after a particularly dark year, a year that saw the death of his godfather, Sirius Black, and the revelation of a hidden prophecy that would forever change his destiny.

And this is where we begin our tale.

A/N: Yes, it's yet another author trying to squeeze in their 6th year story before HBP comes out. In my defense, though, I have actually been working on this story since OOTP came out and I had been holding on actually publishing it until it was completed as I've made the mistake of posting fics that weren't finished in the past (another Genre – American soap opera) and it's very easy to write yourself into a corner doing that. Plus my interest in that fandom had waned (stupid, crappy head writers ruining my show) and so a couple of my stories remain unfinished. I didn't want to do that here. However, the release date of HBP is creeping ever nearer and I realized that I'd better post what I have now while people will still care. This is actually a two-parter covering both 6th and 7th years. This story follows canon thru 5th year but any information that JKR has released that is not in the books is not necessarily adhered to. I am also trying as much as is possible to write in a style reminiscent of Rowling's, but I won't kid myself.

One more thing and I will release you from this incredibly long and frightfully dull AN. I've been an HP fan for 2 years and since then I have read a LOT of fanfic. And, as stated above, I have written several stories in another fandom. One thing that I have learned is that no matter how wonderfully original you think your idea may be, chances are someone else has already done it, and done it better. I've had ideas that were so amazing and original that I was going, "I am a genius!", only to see them used so many times, they've become clichéd. I've removed some of the worst offenses but many of these "oh so original" ideas remain. Oh well. I've always believed that it's not how original the idea, it's how well it's written.

Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One 

He was flying. High above the ground, the wind in his hair and he was flying. Treetops and houses passed in a blur beneath him; he'd never flown so fast. He couldn't help the silly grin that broke out on his face. He was free; radiant joy filled his heart. He had no worries or cares, no haunting memories plaguing his every second, no dark wizard seeking to kill him. He was free.

He knew he shouldn't feel this way. He was supposed to be sad, angry, guilt ridden. How could he be flying at a time like this? How dare he be happy, after everything that had happened? After everything he had lost?

But Harry left his guilt and despair behind him with a great burst of speed. He soared higher now – up into the night sky. Higher, so high his outstretched fingers brushed the tiny stars like golden snitches waiting to be caught.

How long had he been flying? He didn't know; he didn't care. In fact, he fully intended to stay up in the air forever. He was free now, and he wasn't going back.

However, the jagged scar on his forehead suddenly tingled and soon he found himself being pulled back down to earth. Dark houses and tall trees came nearer but he didn't recognize them; he had never been here before.

His Firebolt slowed against his will as if some other force was acting on it. He came to a stop outside of an old, derelict house. There were no lights in the street and the run down neighborhood appeared to have been long abandoned.

He was directed to a boarded up window on the second story. He could just make out voices from the other side of the thick wooden slats. He froze. His scar flared painfully. One of those voices was terrifyingly familiar. With a deep breath, he peered through a large crack between the boards.

A fire roared brightly in a large room. White candles added to the brilliance and Harry blinked rapidly. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light, he looked around the room, taking mental notes. A large plush armchair sat in the sparsely furnished room. Sitting upon it like a king on a throne was a man, very pale, who had a wide flat nose with flaring nostrils. And staring out from slits of skin were two red eyes.

"Voldemort," Harry whispered through a fresh surge of pain in his scar.

And so it was the dark wizard Voldemort. He was joined by a half dozen men in black hooded robes; his followers, the Death Eaters. And standing before him, unnaturally rigid, was a woman.

A gasp of surprise escaped Harry's lips. He tensed and clamped his hand over his mouth. Fortunately, it seemed that no one heard him and he took a second look at the woman.

A thin woman, she was covered in shimmering scarves and shawls. Glittering bangles dangled from her wrists and her fingers were covered in sparkling rings. He could see her eyes behind the large glasses she wore. They were wide and stared blankly; glassy.

Harry would know those eyes anywhere. How many times had they stared at him while she made some gruesome prediction of his death? For the woman was Sybil Trelawney, Professor of Divination at Hogwarts.

Before Harry could even wonder what Professor Trelawney was doing in there, Voldemort spoke.

"My dear Professor, I am so glad you could join us." His soft voice was silkily smooth despite being eerily high pitched. His words slithered in the air. A snake charmer at work.

"And now, Professor Trelawney, why don't you tell me what I want to hear."

There was a long pause while the professor simply stood there, that same vacant expression on her face. Harry had seen that look before; on Barty Crouch at the end of fourth year. Professor Trelawney was under Veritaserum.

Harry had just realized this when the professor opened her mouth. But instead of her usual soft, misty voice, came a voice Harry had heard only twice before. It was deeper, harsh, and soon Harry realized that it wasn't only the voice he'd heard before, but her very words as well. She was reciting the prophecy regarding Harry's birth. The very prophecy Voldemort had spent all last year trying to get to. And now he was hearing it, to Harry's deep dismay.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies….And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hands of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

Harry's eyes shot to Voldemort to gauge his response. Voldemort's beady scarlet eyes were twinkling.

"And either must die at the hands of the other…" he mused aloud. He clapped his hands together. "Do you hear that? One must kill the other, but it doesn't say whom. The outcome is undecided."

"B-but, my Lord," a small squeaky voice spoke up. Harry recognized the speaker as Wormtail. Wormtail, who had betrayed his parents to their deaths. Wormtail, who had revived Voldemort nearly at the cost of Harry's life, and at the cost of Cedric's. Wormtail, the reason why Harry's godfather spent 12 years in Azkaban hell.

Harry seethed with hot rage. How dare Wormtail be alive when Sirius was dead? It wasn't right, it wasn't fair!

But Harry spoke none of this aloud. He concentrated instead on what the rat traitor was saying.

"He-he has the power to v-vanquish you."

"He has the power, yes, but the prophecy doesn't say if he gets to use it. I intend to deny him that chance."

"That won't be easy, my Lord," said another Death Eater whom Harry recognized as Lucius Malfoy.

"Yes, I know. The boy is protected in ways he doesn't even know about. It's almost comical, the number of people involved in keeping him alive. If he knew, how many people would die for him, have already died for him…"

Harry froze at this. People dying – what? He was still reeling from learning about the prophecy last June. The idea of him having some great important destiny was overwhelming…terrifying. In fact, it was only now, during his dreams, that he even allowed himself to think of the prophecy or of Sirius. His waking mind had yet to accept what his subconscious had; that Sirius was gone, and that Harry was a marked man. He didn't want to hear about people sacrificing themselves for him, like his parents did, like Sirius did. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve any of it.

He turned back to Voldemort who was still talking. "Well, so how to get him out from under Dumbledore's watchful eyes? Tell me, Seer, how do I kill Harry Potter?"

"Love….His greatest weakness but also his greatest strength….It is the power the One possesses…the power to vanquish the Dark Lord."

"Love? I see."

Panic rose like a thick lump in Harry's throat. He already knew what Voldemort was thinking; the best way to get to Harry was through the people he loved. Just like last year. Just like Sirius.

But there was no time for guilt and self-hatred, for Trelawney had begun speaking again, still in that same dark voice.

"The Dark Lord will seek to kill the One….But she with hair of fire…Child of Phoenix…will lay down her life for the One….And the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be unleashed….And the Dark Lord will be no more."

Silence lay heavy in the room as every eye turned to Voldemort, whose red eyes remained fixed on Trelawney. "Hair of fire? Phoenix?" He laughed then. "You're talking about Potter's mother – that has already happened, Seer. I want to know the future, not the past."

"The Dark Lord will seek to kill the One….But she with hair of fire…Child of Phoenix…." Trelawney repeated the prophecy and fell silent.

"We'll get nothing further from her, my Lord," said Malfoy.

Voldemort was staring at Trelawney with thoughtful eyes. A pale bony forefinger stroked his chin and then he snapped back to attention. "Yes, I suppose you're right." Then, to Harry's horror, those red, snakelike eyes were now fixed on Harry where he was positioned at the window.

"Are you watching this, Potter?" he asked with a large smile as if unsurprised to see him there. "Good." And lifting his wand, he pointed it at Trelawney. "Enjoy. CRUCIO!"

And with a searing blast of pain in his scar, Harry jerked awake in his bed many, many miles away.

Pain. Fear. Racing pulse, gasping breath. Harry reached a trembling hand up to his scar and found his forehead slick with cold sweat. He replayed the dream in his mind, determined not to let any of it slip away. He hadn't had a dream like this since the vision he'd had of S-, since last June, and he knew this dream was terribly important. _I've got to tell someone – Dumbledore!_

He reached for his glasses and put them on. He brushed the damp bangs out of his face and got out of bed. The beaten, battered, sat upon alarm clock told him it was just after four in the morning. Harry had a feeling he wouldn't be getting anymore sleep that night.

He stumbled across the room toward his desk and clicked on the small desk lamp. He saw Hedwig's empty cage and knew his pet owl must have been out hunting. He decided to write his dream down first, so none of it could escape his memory. Even now, as he sat writing, some of the details had become hazy. By the time he got to the end he had forgotten much of the last proph- last part. He could only remember that it had been about his mother sacrificing herself for him and Voldemort's subsequent defeat.

_But that doesn't make sense. Why repeat a prophecy that's already come true?_ _Unless_….Harry shook his head. "A mystery for another time." He glanced over the parchment and when he was satisfied that he'd written down all he could remember, he folded it into thirds. He set this aside; he wasn't going to risk the dream being intercepted in the mail. He grabbed another sheet of parchment and jotted down a quick message.

Professor,

I need to talk to you as soon as possible. It happened again.

Harry

He addressed the message to _Professor Albus Dumbledore; Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_, and set it aside to await Hedwig's return.

Harry sat staring out the open window onto the dark street below. A slight breeze ruffled his hair and provided some relief from the warm, humid night. It was calm and peaceful on Privet Drive. Harry snorted. It was always calm and peaceful on Privet Drive. With the exception of the occasional dementor attack, of course.

_So he knows now. He knows he can kill me. And he's going to use my friends to get to me._ His mind drifted back, as it had done so many times that summer, to the end of last term.

Harry closed his eyes against the onslaught of images. He and five of his friends –surrounded by Death Eaters – trapped in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic building. Hermione – hit with a curse, lying as if dead, unconscious. Ron attacked by brains while a white-faced Ginny looked on helplessly until she too was hit by a curse. Luna – flying through the air, also unconscious. And Neville, loyal Neville, who never left his side, being tortured with the Cruciatus Curse.

It was a miracle they all made it out alive. If reinforcements in the form of Order members hadn't come, they wouldn't have.

_Well, I might have,_ Harry thought bitterly. His friends would have died, but he would've made it. That was his talent; surviving where others had died. _The bloody Boy Who Lived._

He shook his head, as if to shake his very thoughts. He wasn't going to think about _that._ He cast his eyes about, looking for a welcome distraction. They landed on a yellowed bit of parchment on desk. He smiled as he picked it up.

His O.W.L. results had come in mid July. He had been astounded by his scores; he'd read them over and over and was the happiest he'd been all summer. He had achieved 7 O.W.L.s, and while nowhere near Hermione's score of 10 perfect O.W.L.s, it was still a very respectable score. An accompanying letter from Professor McGonagall asked him to mark which classes he would be taking at N.E.W.T. level. He was surprised to find that Potions was on the list, as Professor Snape only allowed those students who had scored Outstanding to continue in his N.E.W.T class.

He thought back to his Potions exam. While he felt that he had performed decently, much better than he had expected to, he didn't think he had done nearly so well as to earn an Outstanding. He then noticed that Professor McGonagall had made a notation beside the choice for Potions; "Due to a lack of qualifying students, the admissions requirements for N.E.W.T. level Potions has been expanded to include those students who scored Exceeds Expectations on the Potions O.W.L."

Harry had smiled at this. _I sense the involvement of a certain Transfiguration professor. _He thought of Professor McGonagall and her promise to help him become an auror "no matter what." He would need to take Potions if he wanted to be a dark wizard catcher.

He not only scored an Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures as well. He scored Exceeds Expectations level in Transfiguration and Potions. His Potions score blew his mind; it was much higher than he had even hoped for. But still, it wasn't an Outstanding and he knew "someone" must have persuaded Snape to allow him into NEWT Potions.

He just barely passed Astronomy with an Acceptable. He did fail two of his exams, though, but he had expected to. He received a Dreadful in Divination. No surprise there; his failing grade was the only thing he had accurately predicted in that class. He had also received a Poor in History of Magic, but was amazed he had done as well as that. History as taught by Professor Binns, a man who hadn't even let his own death keep him from teaching, was boring at best, mind-numbing torture at worst.

Harry shook his head. _How Hermione manages to stay awake in that class…._ It also didn't help when he missed half the exam because he had fallen asleep and had the vision of S- _Don't!_ So, all in all, a Poor wasn't that bad. _It's not like I'm going to need to know about the goblin rebellion of 1452 when I go up against Voldemort,_ Harry scoffed.

Harry looked up from gazing out the window. His eyes fell on a stack of letters and cards. His friends, still feeling bad about the lack of communication during the previous summer, went overboard in the opposite direction with a never ending stream of letters, visits, and even an occasional telephone call. Not a day went by in which he didn't have some sort of contact with the wizarding world.

And not only was he receiving more letters than ever, but he was hearing from more people than ever, as well. Lupin was a frequent correspondent, (and visitor) as was Mrs. Weasley, who always took care to send a pie or some biscuits with her letters. He had even received a few notes from Fred and George, and Neville wrote thanking him for his Outstanding O.W.L in Defense Against the Dark Arts. His gran was so pleased that she went right out and bought him a new wand to replace the one that had been broken in the Department of…_No – stop it! _And the first time he received a letter from Ginny, he nearly fell out of his chair.

But no matter who the author was, the missive was usually the same. Lighthearted tales and anecdotes designed to keep his spirits up before always alluding to that _thing_ that he wasn't going to think about and always reminding him that (fill in the blank) would be there for him whenever he was ready "to talk." He usually skipped over these portions of the letters, instead choosing to focus on the lighter segments. His responses were the same; he was doing fine, it was the typical summer at Privet Drive; quiet and boring. He regaled his audience with tales of What Dudley Ate for Breakfast; Volume Two, or the very popular, critically acclaimed, Name That Color; A Guide to the Many Moods of Vernon Dursley. Why, just yesterday, his face had turned an impressive shade of fuchsia upon seeing his disheveled nephew coming in from weeding the regimented testament to uniformity that was the Dursley flower garden.

Harry smiled as he leafed through the letters. Ron excitedly relating the latest Quidditch league standings; the Chudley Cannons had won three games! Of course, they had lost ten games, but still! Hermione was off on one of her summer expeditions; _Timbuktu? Or something like that._ She had sent back exotic postcards so crammed with "interesting" information about "exciting people and cultures" that her neat handwriting was almost illegible. Yet, no matter how little space she had, she always managed to fit in a I'm-here-for-you-if-you-want-to-talk. Ginny's letters were full of mischief; so-bad-they're-almost-funny jokes and stories of the twins' latest antics. Fred and George kept him informed of their latest creations. They'd spent most of the summer working on something called Double Delights that they were surprisingly tight-lipped about except for a weird comment that the Double Delights would be a "bust" unless they could get all of the problems "in hand."

Harry chuckled as he thought of the twins. _I bet Dad would have liked them. _A sudden sadness came over him at that thought. He could still see the ugly sneer on his father's face as he tormented a teenaged Snape in Snape's memories. He had always wanted to be like his Dad, but now he wasn't so sure.

He wanted to talk to S-, and actually found himself starting several letters to his godfather, but then he remembered that he couldn't send letters to him, or talk to him, because he was dead. Dead. He was having a hard time understanding that concept. _Sirius is dead._ He kept waiting for it to sink in but it never did. He didn't understand. The words were in English and individually he understood them. Sirius. Is. Dead. But put them together and they might as well have been in Gobbledegook for all that Harry comprehended them.

It wasn't that Harry didn't understand death. His parents had been murdered when he was a baby and he'd witnessed Cedric's murder just over a year ago. He was no stranger to death. But in Cedric's case, he had seen the killing curse, had seen it strike Cedric, had seen it steal the very life from his body, and had held the body that remained. It's hard to be in denial when someone's lifeless, glazed eyes are staring at you from within a stone cold body. There is no question in that instance – Cedric was dead.

But Sirius….One minute he's battling his cousin and looking more alive since…ever. Taunting her with a trademark cockiness that was reminiscent of younger years and Harry could just imagine what he was like before Azkaban and the murders of his friends robbed him of his youth and beauty. But that was one minute. The next minute had him hurtling backwards through the air struck by a curse. A non-fatal curse at that. Harry seethed at the twisted irony of it. After everything that Sirius had endured, after spending minutes fighting in a life or death battle with several of Voldemort's most powerful Death Eaters, it wasn't the curse that killed him, but falling through the mysterious Veil in the middle of the room. That's it. No Avada Kedavra, no body, no glassy eyes staring vacantly, nothing but a fluttering curtain and Remus's word that he was gone. After everything he had done, everything he had been, that was how he died. Killed by drapery.

And of course because it wasn't bad enough that he and his friends had narrowly escaped death while his godfather hadn't, Dumbledore afterwards informed him of the prophecy that said he would either have to kill Voldemort (thereby saving the wizarding world) or be killed by Voldemort (thereby condemning the wizarding world to a horrible fate.) Nope, no pressure there. He could actually hear Oliver Wood saying, "Save the world or die trying!" Nice bloke for motivation, that one.

And so, what with one thing another, it is no surprise that when Harry stepped into the smallest bedroom on Number Four, Privet Drive, that he was feeling a bit… numb from the shock of it all. Several weeks later, he was still feeling much the same.

He swallowed, trying to force down the lump in his throat. He looked back at the cards on his desk wanting to think of something else. He smiled at the many colorful birthday cards. His birthday had come at the end of July and he was now sixteen.

_Sixteen,_ he mused. In a year he would be of age and the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery would no longer apply to him. _I think I'll celebrate by turning the Dursleys into pigs, _he thought with a wicked grin. _Of course, Uncle Vernon and Dudley are almost there._ He entertained himself with imagining their round pink bodies and curly tails running all over Privet Drive, their squeals echoing down the street.

He laughed out loud at the thought, even as he knew he would never actually do it. _Anyway, there's still probably a Decree against the Turning of Muggles into Pigs. _And also, his coming of age was still a whole year off.

As if sensing how much Harry needed to celebrate his birthday this year, his friends had really come through for him. At the stroke of midnight, a flurry of owls descended on house #4, flying through his open window in a rush of beating wings. Amazingly, Uncle Vernon slept through the whole thing. By the time they were gone, Harry was left with any number of cards and a few presents from his best friends.

Hermione had sent him a couple of books that would help him with an idea he'd secretly hatched. He smiled, thinking of those books; he couldn't wait to put his plan into action.

Ron had given him a large assortment of Honeyduke's Best Chocolate. His brothers George and Fred had sent him a box filled with some of their candy creations labeled, "For Dudley." Harry chuckled at the idea of his porcine cousin "accidentally" discovering one of the prank treats – but decided instead to save them for another time, like when he was of age and no longer had to stay under the Dursleys' roof.

Their card simply read, "Happy Birthday, Harry, from Gred and Forge." Inside of the card was a wizarding photo of the twins, who were identical in every way, from the bright red hair on their heads, to their many freckles, to the large breasts they both sported under their shirts. _What?_ It took a second glance to convince Harry that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. Harry turned the picture over, hoping to find some explanation. But all it said was, "Love from the _Twins_." Harry filed it away as something to ask about later.

He'd received cards from all the Weasley children, minus Percy, and had laughed at Ginny's handmade card. The front bore the image of a disgruntled dwarf dressed in a cotton diaper, with wings sticking out of his back, and carrying a bow and arrow. Beneath him was a simple message:

Happy Birthday, Harry,

It's no singing dwarf, but I think it will do,

Love, Ginny

He opened the card and a shrill singing erupted from it. Fortunately, the singing was quite soft; otherwise, he would have to deal with his Uncle's rants about Harry and "all that ruddy noise." Harry smiled and shook his head. _Ginny and her singing cards_.

It was obviously a joke, playing off the time in his second year when she (suffering from an acute crush on Mr. Potter) sent him a singing Valentine by way of costumed dwarf. Harry laughed as he listened to the song:

His eyes are as green as an algae covered pond

His hair, the blackest of black

I wish he were here

To give Ron some cheer,

And get my brothers off my back!

Mrs. Weasley had also sent a card, along with several mincemeat pies, which Harry had happily devoured. He'd also received cards from various Order of Phoenix members such as Tonks and Mad Eye Moody. Moody's card wasn't so much a card as a long rambling warning about the dangers of birthdays; poisoned cakes, exploding presents, drunken guests who wont leave.

Remus's card had been the hardest for Harry to open. He had been a good friend of both his father and S-, his godfather. Harry didn't think he could take another reminder of _that_. It was almost comical the way he sat, eyes closed tightly, card in his hand, trying to screw up the Gryffindor courage to open the card. Finally, he opened it quickly and ran his eyes over the letters so fast they were an incomprehensible blur, just so he could say to himself that he had read it. He still didn't know what the card had said beyond Happy Birthday. _I'm going to read it. Just, not yet._

And that had been the extent of his birthday. The Dursleys' of course didn't even acknowledge it. It was just another ordinary day and since then seven ordinary days had passed. There were now three more weeks before term began.

A soft hooting snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see his snowy white owl Hedwig returning from her outing.

"Morning, girl. Good hunting? I hate to send you out again but I need you to deliver this message to Dumbledore as quick as you can." He tied the letter to her outstretched leg and with a playful nip at his fingers, she was off.

He glanced at the clock again. It was still early, just before dawn, but Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would be up soon. He crawled back into bed. Resting would do him good even if he couldn't sleep.

Two hours later, he was still lying on his bed, waiting for the loud slam that would signal his Uncle's departure for work. He smiled when his cousin's whines floated up the stairs. That summer Uncle Vernon had decided it would be good if Dudley came to work with him, working in a type of entry-level, intern capacity. He had declared that it was time Dudley learned something of the business, as he would be running it one day. Dudley's expression upon hearing the news had been one of pure horror. His small beady eyes bulged out of their fleshy sockets and his round ball of a face turned a frightening shade of purple. Harry tried to keep a straight face as he saw another one of Dudley's tantrums coming on.

Oh, how he bawled and bawled, big fat tears dripping over his six chins. But he was on holiday, he cried. He needed to rest from his grueling year at Smeltings. He wanted to visit with his friends and work on his boxing – how was he supposed to maintain his Junior Heavyweight title if he didn't practice?

"There, there, Dudley, my boy," Uncle Vernon had rushed to calm his wailing son. "You can still do all those things. It's just, I need someone at work I can depend on. Someone smart, who will keep a sharp eye on the goings on among the staff. You'll get to help me make important decisions like hirings and firings."

This seemed to have cheered Dudley for his screams had quieted. Even Dudley had recognized the opportunity to bully a whole new set of victims. He was further pleased to learn that he would be working out of a large corner office complete with top of the line computer equipment. Which meant that he would probably spend the whole of the day playing computer games and checking out adult sites on the Internet, Harry wisely surmised.

"And you, boy," Uncle Vernon turned to Harry, his moustache bristling with barely contained animosity, "are going to work very hard for your Aunt this holiday. No more free rides for you, no sir. You're going to earn the room and board we've so graciously provided." Uncle Vernon stared very hard at Harry as if daring him to argue.

But Harry just shrugged his shoulders. "Yes sir," he replied indifferently. After everything he had faced at the end of the school year, he just couldn't muster the emotions necessary for an angry response. He couldn't even bring himself to remind his portly uncle that he didn't have to take this treatment, that all he'd have to do was send one letter to his friends and a handful of the oddest people Privet Drive had ever seen would descend on house # 4 in a flash.

Harry straightened in his bed, hearing the front door slam below and the bassy rumble of his uncle's car pulling out of the drive. He waited a few minutes, ignoring the increasing growls of his stomach and headed downstairs.

He stopped in the absurdly clean kitchen. He was surprised to see his aunt cooking breakfast. This was odd; usually Harry grabbed a leftover piece of toast or just sneaked something out of the refrigerator, since his desire to avoid his uncle and cousin in the mornings meant that he missed out on breakfast.

But sure enough, Aunt Petunia was standing in front of the stove, turning over several fat sausages while eggs fried in another pan. He paused in confusion before slowly sinking down at the kitchen table. Surely she wasn't cooking for _him_. He held his breath, knowing at any minute she would snap at him and ask what he was waiting for. But she never did. Minutes passed in this tense, awkward silence and then suddenly there was a plate of steaming food in front of him.

Harry was stunned. While nowhere near the amount of food Mrs. Weasley tried to feed him, it was still much more than his aunt had ever fixed for him before. He was almost afraid to say something, afraid words would break the spell and the plate of sausages and eggs would change into a piece of moldy bread and a glass of water. But still he managed a weak "thank you" before setting to.

To his additional surprise, his aunt took a seat beside him at the square table. Harry ate in silence for a few minutes while Aunt Petunia examined the nonexistent dirt on the tabletop. Finally she broke the silence.

"You've been rather quiet this summer." It was a simple statement and void of the accusatory tone it normally would have carried.

"Um, yeah, I guess so." There was another long pause.

"He's still out there, isn't he? Voldemort."

Harry's insides froze and it wasn't from hearing the dark wizard's name, as was the case with most of the wizarding community. It was from hearing the name from his muggle aunt's mouth.

It was strangely surreal, much like last summer, when dementors had attacked Harry and Dudley in this same neighborhood and a conversation about Voldemort had taken place in this very kitchen. And the fear that had been in his aunt's voice then was the same as now.

For she alone, of all of Harry's so called family, knew enough to fear Voldemort. For this was the same dark wizard who had murdered her sister. A sister she had detested, a sister she liked to pretend never existed, but a sister nonetheless.

Harry sneaked a glance at his aunt's thin horsy face. She was staring fixedly at a cupboard drawer and seemed to be fighting some internal battle. Finally she stood up quickly and walked to the drawer, yanking it out. She dropped something on the table in front of Harry.

His eyes nearly popped forward when he saw the small photograph of his mother and Aunt Petunia, taken when they were very young. He half expected the figures to move before reminding himself that only wizarding photos moved. Harry was speechless; nowhere else in the entire house, had there ever been a picture of his parents.

He looked up at his aunt, who shook away the unspoken question on his lips. "I found this while going through an old box the other day. Just thought I might as well give it to you as throw it away."

For some reason he didn't believe his aunt's story. Maybe he was just grasping – trying to find some semblance of humanity in his cold cruel aunt, but he wanted to believe that she had been holding onto the photo for all these years, that maybe there was a part of her – a small part to be sure – that had cared for her sister.

He wanted to argue the point, but thought better of it and simply said, "Thank you." He shook his head, still trying to wrap his brain around the sudden turn of events. Just as he was beginning to fear that some Death Eater had taken the guise of his aunt, she snapped at him, bringing him back to reality.

"Now eat up! I've got a lot of work for you today. You can start by mowing the lawn, weeding the garden, pruning the hedges, painting the fence, paving the driveway, fixing the shingles on the roof…."

Hours later,an endless sea of green stretched before his weary eyes. The Dursleys' yard had never seemed so vast as it did whenever Harry mowed it. As he was doing on this particular afternoon. The hard way.

He waved politely at the next door neighbor who rode past on a riding lawnmower. The man's yard was the size of a postage stamp yet he had a riding lawnmower. Meanwhile, Harry was stuck using the Dursleys' old push lawnmower. Not only that, but this lawnmower didn't have a motor of any kind; the relic pre-dated the machine age. It was simply made up of two wheels and a rotating blade. A very dull, rusted blade.

Harry wiped the sweat from his brow as he went back over the section for the fifth time. _This fossil belongs in a museum with other antiquities. People would queue up and pay money to see it._ But instead Harry got to mow their giant lawn with it. He wondered what the Dursleys did during the school year when he wasn't there to do the yard work. He couldn't imagine Uncle Vernon mowing the yard like this. _They probably hire some neighbor kid to do it, Harry surmised with a wry smile._

He thought back to that morning's bizarre encounter with his aunt. When he got off the train at King's Cross last term he had been looking forward to a rough and dismal summer. His time with the Dursleys was always difficult as they chose not to see him as a nephew, but rather an unwanted pest, or a slave, or both. He expected this summer to be even worse.

However, Harry had to admit, as he started on a new section of lawn, the summer hadn't been…that bad. The Dursleys had actually managed to be…bearable. Even his uncle Vernon.

There seemed to be an unspoken rule in the house: Leave Harry alone. The Dursleys went to great lengths to avoid him. In fact, Harry suspected that the reason behind Dudley going to work wasn't to gain him "valuable real life experience," but rather to get him out of Harry's hair. Uncle Vernon and Dudley left very early every morning and worked until late every night. Nearly every weekend the family (minus Harry) went away on vacation.

And Harry's rare encounters with the family weren't terrible. Uncle Vernon seemed to go out of his way to be…not mean to Harry. They had even given Harry one of Dudley's old TV's (Oh, how he cried!) so that Harry could keep up with the news without bothering the rest of the family.

The only thing that remained constant was the workload, but for once Harry didn't mind the grueling labor. It kept him busy, killed time, and kept his mind off of things he'd rather not think about. It also wore him out so that hours later as he trudged up the stairs toward his room he knew he'd sleep soundly that night. He was too exhausted to dream.

He hopped into the bathroom for a quick shower to wash away the sweat and grime. The Dursleys were still eating dinner so Harry could count on a pleasant five minutes before Uncle Vernon began making thinly veiled comments about "people using up all the hot water."

He stood there and let the hot water roll off his tense, knotted shoulders and down his back. He sighed and imagined all of his cares and worries washing away with the dirt, swirling down the drain. He thought of his dream – how good it had felt to be flying in the air. He hung onto that feeling like a drowning man clutching a lifeline.

Later, in his room he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and grimaced when they only came down to his calves. He'd had another growth spurt and Dudley's old castoffs just couldn't cut it anymore. They wouldn't fit at all if it weren't for Dudley being five times as big around as Harry.

Despite the extra inches he'd gained, he still wasn't what one would call tall. Tallish, maybe, on the tall side, but not tall. Perhaps it was spending 10 years living in a cupboard, or the fact that the Dursleys never fed him enough, but he'd always been small for his age. Of the boys in his dorm, only Neville was shorter. He'd sprouted up quite a bit since coming to Hogwarts though. Good food and Quidditch had filled him out and he no longer had that 'runt' look about him. Still, he wasn't likely to surpass Ron's height anytime soon.

Realizing the time, he switched on the TV just as the news was coming on. He plopped onto the bed, his taut muscles relaxing as he reclined. The television set was small, black & white, and barely picked up three channels. But it got the news and that was all Harry cared about. He was watching, as was his evening ritual, for absolutely no reason at all and certainly not to keep an eye on any suspicious activity that might be the work of a certain Dark Lord that he wasn't thinking about. He also wasn't receiving the Daily Prophet everyday and reading it from cover to cover looking for mention of said Dark Lord.

Still, it was quite the relief when day after day passed with no news of dark activity.

He turned his attention back to the news. The first segment had passed and there had been no mention of murders or unexplained deaths. Harry let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. So everything was okay. For now. They moved onto the weather and Harry turned off the TV.

It was still fairly early and despite his body's exhaustion his mind was wide-awake. So he reached under his bed and pulled out the books Hermione had gotten him: Fighting Techniques from Around the World, and Basic Martial Arts and Self-Defense. The former was more of a history of the world's martial arts disciplines and the theories behind them, while the latter was more of a practical study of basic skills.

One night toward the beginning of holiday he had fallen asleep with the TV. on. He'd woken up hours later to find an old kung-fu movie on. He had watched the skilled fighters throw kicks and punches at each other, seeming to fly through the air. At the time though, he simply thought it was "cool" and had gone back to bed. It wasn't until he had dreamt of himself as the young hero, Flying Dragon, battling the evil sorcerer, Slithering Serpent, using the near mystical kung-fu fighting skills, that the idea had come to him.

It was so simple, yet made so much sense. He had learned from his previous encounters with Voldemort, that one couldn't always count on magic; he had to be able to draw on other sources. Sources that dark wizards wouldn't be expecting, like muggle fighting skills. So Harry had gotten the idea to augment the D.A. training with martial arts.

He was thinking of Dumbledore's Army, the defense club he had started last year to teach students how to defend themselves, since the new curriculum under Dolores Umbridge didn't allow for Defense Against the Dark Arts students to actually _learn_ defense against the Dark Arts.

Harry supposed that now that Umbridge was gone that the D.A. wouldn't be needed, but he really didn't want to see it go. He envisioned the club as being a kind of elite force of the best students at Hogwarts, a secondary line of defense in case of attack. He found himself planning new lessons; for example, he was going to focus heavily on the Patronus Charm, since it was the only thing that would fend off the hundreds of dementors that Voldemort now had at his disposal.

He hoped he'd be able to continue with the club. He was filled with such energy when he made plans and thought about its members. It gave him drive, purpose, and was the one thing that truly made him feel alive.

Finally, his eyelids began to droop and a pleasant drowsiness crept over him. He crawled into bed and got out the picture of his mother and Aunt Petunia from the bedside table. He stared at the picture, memorizing his mother's lovely smile. Her green eyes twinkled back at him and her expression was one of joy and love. Thick, dark red hair framed her young face.

And that was the last he saw as his eyes closed and his body succumbed to his exhaustion. He slept deeply that night, lost in dreams of a red headed woman holding him, shielding him as a blast of green light erupted around them.


	3. Chapter Two

A/N: Usual disclaimers apply. A question was asked about the mystery girl in the prophecy. I won't tell you who she is, although it isn't very original or hard to figure out. I will say that she is not an original character. No long lost sisters, cousins, or neices-twice-removed here. I have no faith in my ability to write an original character without turning her into a Mary Sue, so I won't even try. However, I'm not above stealing characters from other fandoms, so you may see one or two "guest stars" from time to time appearing in cameo roles. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

"Mrs. Dursley!" a gravelly, high-pitched voice called.

Harry straightened up from where he was pouring asphalt and saw their neighbor Mrs. Figg flopping down the sidewalk toward their house at a furious rate. Dressed in a tattered pink robe and matching slippers, she seemed just as normal as any other crazy old woman with too many cats. Only Harry knew that there was more to Mrs. Figg than met the eye. She was a squib, a non-magical person born to a magical family. She had watched over Harry all his life and wasn't nearly as nasty as she liked to pretend.

He hadn't talked to her since last summer when he learned of her true identity, and since she seemed to be acting as if nothing had happened, he followed suit. Occasionally, however, when they passed on the street he thought he saw her wink and the faintest ghost of a smile would form on her thin lips. But that had been the extent of their interaction.

So Harry was now wondering why Mrs. Figg was stomping up their driveway.

"Mrs. Dursley," she spoke in a clipped tone. Her wrinkled lips were pressed into an impossibly thin line and she seemed to be shaking with suppressed fury. "I need to speak with your nephew," she ground out.

"What has he done now?" His aunt Petunia sent him a nasty look. Ah, now _that_ was the Aunt Petunia he knew. Harry gave a mental shrug and chalked up her earlier kindness to temporary insanity.

"Been torturing my cats, that's what," replied Mrs. Figg. "Saw him throwing stones at poor Mr. Tubbles."

"I have not!" Harry protested. How could she blame him for that – he hadn't left the house in a week.

"Shut it, you," said Petunia, pointing a bony finger in his face. "What are you going to do to him?" she asked Mrs. Figg.

"Well, I thought that since he enjoys torturing my cats so much, he can help me take care of them." She turned to Harry. "You'll start by scrubbing the litter boxes – all ten of them. And one of my kittens has been sick – left a nasty mess all over my basement. You'll clean that up too. That is, of course, if it's okay with you, Mrs. Dursley."

"Be my guest. Goodness only knows I've tried to straighten the boy up. It seems he still won't learn."

Harry just stood there, letting her words roll off his back. He'd heard similar words all his life; they had long ago lost any power to hurt him. He knew they weren't true and arguing the point would only make his punishment worse. So instead he just sighed.

"Fine." He followed Mrs. Figg down the driveway.

As they walked down the street toward her house, Harry glanced down at the diminutive woman. He expected her to say something, anything to show that he wasn't just some neighbor kid. At the moment she was his only link to the magical world and he desperately wanted to talk to her about it. But when they reached her home a few minutes later, she hadn't spoken a word. He had just resigned himself to an afternoon of cleaning up after cats when she pointed at a hairy chair in the living room.

"Sit." And she shuffled her way out of the room.

Harry sat. And waited. He looked around the room, wondering just what he was supposed to be doing. The room was the same as he'd remembered from all the times when he was little and Mrs. Figg would watch him while the Dursleys were on vacation.

He had just opened his mouth to ask Mrs. Figg what he was supposed to do when there was a soft whoosh and suddenly a tall man was standing before him. Long purple robes were visible under a long silver beard and blue eyes twinkled behind half moon spectacles. Harry jumped up with a startled cry of recognition.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

The old wizard smiled and came forward. "Hello, Harry. I cannot stay long. You needed to speak with me?" It was then that Harry saw the worn lines on the headmaster's face. He seemed to have aged greatly in the weeks since Harry had seen him last. He knew that it wasn't time but worry that had created those wrinkles.

"Oh, right. I had a dream the night before last – Voldemort was in it. I'm pretty sure that it was actually happening; it felt just like the dreams I had last year."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly and he listened intently while Harry recounted his dream.

"And then I woke up and my scar was hurting." He looked up at the professor who seemed to be staring at something inside himself.

"Hmmm, yes, I see," he murmured. His blue eyes cleared and landed on Harry. "Are you sure the last prophecy was about your mother? Did it reference her specifically?"

Harry frowned in concentration. "No, sir. But it was obviously about her. It said that a woman with red hair – um, hair of fire is how it's stated. There was something about a child of phoenix. Anyway the prophecy said this woman would sacrifice herself for me, and that the sacrifice would lead to Voldemort's defeat, which it did."

A thick silence wrapped around them while Dumbledore stared gravely into space. He turned to Harry. "Pack your things. Be ready to leave tonight. Arabella," he called, and Mrs. Figg appeared in the doorway.

"Arabella, would you kindly escort Harry back to his house?"

"Certainly, Albus."

Dumbledore smiled once more at Harry, but Harry noticed that the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I will see you soon, Harry."

And then he was gone.

Harry sat on his tightly packed trunk and prepared to wait. He had no idea who was coming to get him or when they would even get there. He heard noises below, of the Dursleys sitting down to supper. Harry grinned. They didn't know that soon they would be playing host to those "freak friends" of his. Well, it wouldn't be for the first time that summer.

True to their promise at the end of term, various Order members had paid him short visits over the summer. The Dursleys weren't aware of this, as the visits had occurred during the day, and were usually only for 15 minutes or so. Just long enough for Harry to know he wasn't forgotten.

Harry smiled. The visits had been a bright spot in an otherwise dark summer. He'd be outside, mowing the lawn and suddenly Tonks would be beside him, sporting hair in some outrageous color. Or he'd be on an early morning jog and find Bill Weasley running beside him as if they'd made plans to run together. Harry had even opened the door one morning for the mail only to find that the "postman" was none other than Mad Eye Moody. Uncle Vernon had taken quite a fright until he convinced himself that it was just a "strange likeness, just a coincidence."

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. The clanging doorbell jerked Harry out of his thoughts. Ding dong, ding-dong.

"All right! We're coming! There's no need to lean on the bloody bell!" Uncle Vernon roared below.

Harry stood up, knowing that they were here. It could only be Arthur Weasley on the other side of that door. The doorbell would be yet another item to add to the wizard's list of muggle fascinations.

He jogged down the stairs and skidded into the living room. Sure enough three strikingly red heads of hair met his eyes. Arthur Weasley, dressed in some god-awful combination of plaid, dots, stripes and paisley (topped off with pink bunny slippers) was attempting to introduce his two sons to the dumbstruck Dursleys.

"Now I believe you've already met my youngest son, Ron, and this is my oldest boy, Bill."

Bill, who obviously knew nothing of the Dursleys, stuck out his hand to Mr. Dursley. "How do you do?"

But Uncle Vernon just glared at the young man, but as he was also quaking in trepidation, the effect was more humorous than intimidating.

Harry turned his attention to the three Weasleys. Bill and Arthur were looking around with a great deal of interest. Harry noticed that Mr. Weasley's fingers twitched as he gazed longingly at the DVD player. But Ron, having seen it all before, and not quite having his father's obsession with muggle artifacts, took everything in with a quick glance and headed to Harry.

The two friends met in a quick hug that ended in a hearty slap on Harry's back. He was surprised that the embrace didn't embarrass him; rather, after everything the two best friends had faced together, handshakes were no longer sufficient to show their love for the other. They were brothers now, if not in blood.

Ron stared at Harry for a moment, as if sizing up his friend's condition. "Well then, you all packed, mate?"

"Yes, my trunk's upstairs."

Soon, after bidding a "fond farewell" to the Dursleys, the four men stood outside with Harry's things.

"Where are we going, and how are we getting there?" Harry asked. He glanced around, surprised at the seeming lack of security. Last summer, he had left in the dead of night with no fewer than 9 Order members. And even during the rest of the year, he didn't go anywhere without some kind of guard. Now it was just the four of them, and two were underage.

"We're going to the Burrow, of course. Where else would we go?" Ron laughed uneasily and shot Harry a look that clearly read, "Don't ask, just play along."

"As for how we're going…." Ron pointed to a new car parked in the driveway. "It's a Ministry car. They gave it to Dad to make up for…well, I'll tell you later."

Harry shrugged and packed his belongings into the spacious trunk. Soon, they were off. Harry fingered the fabric of the seats. It was a nice car, with a suspiciously room interior. Harry suspected that it had undergone a few "enhancements" courtesy of Mr. Weasley.

Still, despite the luxurious ride, Harry couldn't help but feel uneasy. He glanced out the window, his gaze flickering all around him. He felt vulnerable, exposed. He stared into the sky, expecting a dozen Death Eaters to come swooping down on them.

Bill must have noticed his discomfiture, for he leaned back over his seat in the front and spoke in an undertone to Harry. "Don't worry, Harry. We've got Order members covering every side of us. And this car was once used by the top levels of the Ministry; it's covered in protective wards and anti-curse charms. It's quite literally the safest place you could be."

A wry smile flitted across Harry's face. "It's too bad I can't spend the rest of my life here."

There was a long pause and Ron spoke up, breaking the tension. "You'll get to see Charlie; he's home from Romania on a brief break."

"Charlie? Wow, I haven't seen him since the First Task."

"Yeah, Mum's beside herself with joy. It's been a while since all of us were back under one roof again. Well, most of us anyway," he added darkly.

"So… I guess Percy's still gone," Harry said softly.

"Yeah. We thought for sure he'd come and apologize after Fudge finally admitted that Voldemort was back. But it's been two months now and we've still heard nothing from him. Not a single owl."

"But why? Surely now that he knows I've been telling the truth he'd want to come back."

"Weasley pride, I'm afraid," Ron answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "And Percy's got it more than the rest of us. He can't bring himself to admit he was wrong." He sighed. "Stupid git."

Harry gave a weak smile. Ron shook himself, as if trying to get onto a happier topic. "And speaking of stupid gits," his voice grew very grave and he fixed Harry with a serious gaze. "Do not eat anything the twins give you. Don't eat anything you may find lying around the house. In fact, don't eat anything unless it comes straight from Mum."

"Ooooo-kay." Harry saw Bill chuckling in the front seat. "Need I ask why?"

"They've invented a new wheeze called Double Delights," Bill explained. "They, ah, have an interesting affect on certain aspects of your anatomy."

Harry paused. "Anatomy? Wait, does it have anything to do with the card they sent me?" He went on to explain the picture of the "twins."

"Yeah, it certainly does."

"See, it all started with Ginny," Ron explained. "She's been going through some… 'changes' lately. You know, 'girl changes,' and I hadn't really noticed because, well, it's Ginny and I don't look at her like that. Plus, those robes hide a lot, you know? Needless to say, we were all surprised at beginning of holiday to see all the 'changes.'"

At this point, Bill was laughing openly at the queasy expression on Ron's face. Obviously, Ron had never expected his little sister to grow up.

Ron continued. "It hit us hard cause she's always been the baby, and the only girl in a house full of boys. We don't really know how to react. So, Fred and George have been handling it in typical Fred and George fashion. Only, one day the teasing got to be too much for Ginny to take and this was the result," Ron finished, referring to the picture.

"You mean, Ginny did that?"

"Yeah, I know. Impressive, huh?" Ron said, a distinct note of pride in his voice. "I'll give you a warning, mate. Never, ever, make Ginny mad at you. She has the worst of the Weasley temper coupled with the twins' evil genius. She's dead scary," said Ron, shuddering.

"Ginny? But she always seems so…"

"Sweet? Innocent?" Bill ventured. "That's what everyone thinks. But she's more than a little like the dastardly duo, and she's certainly pulled her fair share of pranks. Only, no one ever suspects her, because she's sweet, innocent Ginny Weasley."

"So, anyway, back to the Double Delights," Ron picked up, "Ginny got so tired of their stupid teasing that she hit them with this spell, and they were stuck like that for days. They even went to work like that, with great giant knockers swinging around under their shirts! Business at the shop was great, as word spread. They even had to fight off the attention of some rather amorous men."

Harry laughed at the image of Fred and George running from a crowd of adoring men. Perhaps they could change their names to something like Fredericka and Georgina. He caught a glimpse of Mr. Weasley's amused face in the rear view mirror. He wondered briefly where the Weasley talent for mischief-making came from. He imagined a young Arthur Weasley wreaking havoc in the halls of Hogwarts and smiled.

"Ginny finally took it off though, when it became clear that Fred was enjoying it a little too much. The twins thought it was so great that they worked day and night to reproduce the effect and now they're desperate to try it out on some unsuspecting victim. I swear, they've planted those things everywhere."

"Wow. Thanks for the warning."

The sun had disappeared and twilight was quickly fading by the time the car pulled up the dirt road to the Burrow. Harry looked at the rustic house and felt his heart swell. If Hogwarts was his home, then this was his second home and it was good to be back.

Harry and Ron got out of the car while Bill and Mr. Weasley went to collect his things. There was a loud girly squeal and Harry turned to see a tall oddly shaped figure striding towards him. The figure turned out to be Charlie who was giving Ginny a piggyback ride.

"Harry!" Charlie greeted him with a broad smile and a hearty handshake. "You've sprouted up a bit since I last saw you."

"Hi Harry!" Ginny bent over from Charlie's back to give him a tight hug and a peck on the cheek, much to Harry's surprise. She straightened back up and patted Charlie on the back. "Faster, dragon!"

They headed toward the house with the Charlie/Ginny combo leading the way. Harry shot a bewildered look at Ron.

"Yeah, I know. She's been like this since Charlie got here. Something about having us all at home again has got her acting like she's five. Hermione calls it 'regression' – says it's normal that with everything going on in the world, that Ginny just wants to pretend that she's a little girl again. Of course Bill and Charlie treat her like a little girl anyway so it kind of works out."

They went inside where Charlie was holding Ginny upside down by her waist while struggling to remove the socks from her flailing legs. Her face was turning a Weasley shade of red when she spied her eldest brother coming in with Harry's trunk.

"Bill! Save me! He's trying to take my socks and you know you're my favorite brother!"

"These are my socks," Charlie replied with amusement, "and what do you mean he's your favorite brother? You told me I was."

"Umm," Ginny said, a small smile playing about her mouth. Her two brothers exchanged evil grins and the youngest Weasley disappeared in a flurry of limbs and tickling fingers. Gasping laughter could be heard from the girl who was rolling on the floor trying to fend off her attackers.

"Harry! Ron! Save me!" she cried, doubled up in a ball, laughing.

Ron shook his head. "Nutters, absolutely nutters. Come on, let's get your things upstairs."

The two boys half carried, half dragged his trunk up the crooked stairs of the Weasleys' crooked house. Three landings up, they could still hear Ginny's shrieks of laughter below.

"I'm so glad you're here, Harry. It's been crazy around here."

Harry smiled; he would take the insanity of the Weasleys over the Dursleys' "normality" any day.

They had just reached Ginny's room when the door flew open to reveal… "Hermione?"

And yes it was his bushy haired bookish best friend. And yet…. Harry gaped at his friend. Something was different.

She was taller for one thing, now beating Harry's height by a good inch. And she seemed to have gone through some of those "girl changes" Ron was talking about, though she retained a lean athletic quality to her figure. There also seemed to be something different about her face and hair but Harry didn't have time to figure out what it was before she launched herself at him crying "Harry!" and giving him a squeezing hug and a peck on the cheek to rival Ginny's.

"Hi, Hermione," he laughed. "It's good to see you too." He pulled back from her. "Wow… you look, um, nice."

Hermione beamed at him while Ron rolled his eyes. "Thanks!" she said.

"Told you he'd notice," said a voice behind him. Harry turned to see a pink-faced Ginny coming up the stairs. Her brown eyes were bright with laughter.

Harry turned to Hermione for an explanation.

"A couple of days ago, the 'boys' decided they'd have a 'guys night out' and went to a Quidditch match and then have drinks at a pub."

"Dad and I were the only ones drinking butterbeer," Ron said sourly. "I tried to get Fred to let me have some of their Firewhiskey but no go."

"So anyway, in retaliation, we girls: Mum, Tonks, Hermione and I, had a 'girls night in,'" Ginny said as they headed up the stairs to Ron's room.

"So what did you 'girls' do?" Harry asked with a grin.

"Just hung out in our pajamas, doing makeovers and baking biscuits,…talking about boys. You know, girl stuff."

"Girl stuff, huh?" Harry smiled, trying to imagine Hermione painting her nails in her pajamas while talking about boys. "Any particular boys?" he asked Hermione with a teasing grin. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ron stiffen at the question. His ears turned a tale-tell pink.

"Well, your name might have come up once or twice," Hermione answered with a teasing grin of her own.

"Really? What about?"

Ginny hid a giggle behind her hand while Hermione just smiled sweetly. "Wouldn't you like to know, Mr. Potter."

"You might as well give up, mate," Ron said. "They won't tell me a thing. Which isn't very nice – talking about us behind our backs."

"Oh, right. Like the very reason for the 'guys night out' wasn't so that you could talk about girls."

"It wasn't! Well, it's not all we did."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Anyway, getting back to the point. Mrs. Weasley taught me a few spells to help me handle my hair without a great deal of fuss."

"Oh," Harry said, looking at his friend's long chestnut brown hair. While still quite wild looking, it had tamed a great deal. Her hair now fell in soft curls and waves down her back. "It's less, uh,…."

"Bushy?" Hermione said with a laugh. "She also taught me a few glamours and makeup charms." She lowered her voice so only Harry could hear. "Do I really look nice? Not silly or you know, made up?"

Harry shook his head, hoping he was answering correctly. Why girls cared so much about such things, he'd never know. "You look nice," he finished, falling back on his earlier statement. She smiled, so he assumed it was the right response. "Since when do you care about this anyway?"

Harry thought he could see pink circles forming on Hermione's cheeks. "Oh, I don't care," she replied with a forced breeziness. "But sometimes it's nice to do things for yourself. Don't worry, I'm not going to become Lavender or Parvati anytime soon."

They reached Ron's room and dropped Harry's things on the floor. "Don't bother unpacking," Ron said. "We're not going to be here very long."

"Where are we going?"

"Um… headquarters," Ron replied uneasily.

The elation Harry had felt upon arriving at the Burrow vanished with the news. "Oh, " he said simply, eyes trained on the floor. How would he be able to handle going back there, to where S-…

"Sorry, Harry. It's just that it's…"

"The safest place for me. Yeah, I know," Harry said dejectedly. "Why did we even bother coming here if we're just going to turn around and go to headquarters?"

"In Moody's words, 'To throw off anyone who might be watching.'"

"It won't be so bad, Harry," Ginny said, laying a hand on his arm. "We've been doing a lot of work there; it looks much better. Remus lives there now; he'll be glad of your company. This summer has been…hard on him, I think."

"Maybe the two of you could talk, if you don't feel comfortable talking to us that is," Hermione said, her eyes full of sad concern. "If there's anyone who understands the pain of Sirius's death, it's Remus. And of course, we're here for you too, Harry."

A thick lump formed in Harry's throat and he fought to keep the sudden emotion down. He couldn't do this now, not like this.

He felt Ginny's hand squeeze his arm. "When you're ready, Harry."

He swallowed. "Yeah. Sure," he muttered non-commitally.

Ron was first to break the heavy silence. "So, I bet you're wondering what's been going on."

Harry felt as if he'd been hit by a wave of icy water. The numb detachment he'd felt over the summer had been knocked away with one sentence and everything that he'd worked so hard to avoid thinking about came rushing over him. Voldemort. The prophecy. _And either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can survive while the other lives. _His godfather, falling backwards through the air, surprise on his face…. Harry shook away the sudden memory. _Get a grip, Potter._ He couldn't let the flashbacks start up again; he'd worked so hard to keep them at bay. He forced his mind back to the conversation at hand and focused on his friends, who were looking at him with understanding sorrow in their eyes.

"Um, yeah." He swallowed. "I haven't seen anything in either the Prophet or the muggle news that could be Voldemort. What's he up to?"

Ron sent Hermione a sidelong glance. "Unfortunately, we can't tell you anything about that-," He held up his hands as if to hold off any protest from Harry. "But that's because we don't know anything, Harry."

"Let's just say Mum's gotten very good at casting imperturbable charms," Ginny said sullenly. "You know as much as we do."

"And Fred and George are no help," Ron said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You'd think that now they are Order members, they'd help us out. But no, they enjoy lording over us that they are members and we aren't."

Just then two loud CRACKS! rent the air, followed by the sudden appearance of Fred and George in Ron's room.

"Stop doing that!" Hermione's exclamation was met with a crooked smile from George.

"My profoundest apologies, milady. Our ears were burning and we thought that our favorite little brother might be talking about us –"

"-something positive, no doubt-"

"-no doubt. You know how he looks up to us-"

"-idolizes us-"

"-hero worship is what it is-"

"So how's the shop?" Harry cut in loudly.

"Ah, George, look! It's our generous-"

"-and might I add handsome-"

"-benefactor, Harry! The business is going very well, especially now that the summer shopping season has arrived."

"All the ickle Hogwarts students buying their school supplies."

"We even had to get Lee to help us out in the store."

"Wow, that's great – sounds like a lot of fun," Harry said.

At this Fred heaved a great sigh. "Fun – that's what it's supposed to be. But we're spending so much time working on items for the Order that we don't get to work much with the shop."

"Items for the Order?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. It's our fault really. What were we thinking? Creating something with a practical application…" Fred shook his head in shame.

"It's those blasted extendable ears," George explained. "Word got out about them and how useful they are and now aurors are snatching them up faster than we can make them. And now the Order's got us working on other similar items. We've already got a prototype completed – extendable eyes, just like extendable ears."

"Still working out the kinks on that one though."

"Last time I tried it, I was blind in one eye for a week."

"And once we do get it working, I'm sure they'll keep us busy on any number of new projects. I tell you, it's disgraceful. Our creations being used for…_respectable purposes_! Where did we go wrong, George?"

"I don't know, Fred. Mischief making is not what it used to be."

Harry smiled at the twins' theatrics.

"Yes, well, if you had stayed in school and sat for your N.E.W.T.S. then you would have something else to fall back on," Hermione pointed out.

"Yes, well, the one or two N.E.W.T.S. we would have scored wouldn't be of much help, now would they?" George replied in a like manner.

"Besides, we weren't going to stick around with Umbridge running things."

"Speaking of – whatever happened to Umbridge?" Harry asked.

"Sacked," Ron answered.

"Really?"

"Well, technically she 'resigned' from the Ministry position," Hermione clarified. "But everyone knows it was forced upon her."

Harry blinked. "She lost her job with the Ministry?" It was more than he had expected, more than he had even hoped for.

"Yeah, it was great. There was a trial and everything," Ron said with glee.

"Please," Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "That trial was such a waste of time. It was an…appeasement. That's what it was. Like a bone thrown to a dog to get it to forget the feast on the table."

"What are you on about now, Hermione?" Ron rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Fudge! He's been in a great deal of trouble ever since the Ministry confirmed the news of Voldemort's return. Most of the wizarding community believes that Fudge should have known about it and been doing something about it. And many others believe that he did know and purposefully withheld the information. And the whole thing with Umbridge has simply added fuel to their fire. They're saying Fudge planted Umbridge at Hogwarts to subvert the truth, which is essentially what happened. So, to take the suspicion off of himself, he offered Umbridge up as a sacrificial lamb. He claims she acted purely on her own."

"What about the Educational Decrees he signed?" Harry protested.

"He did admit to signing them, but claims he didn't know at the time what they were for, that they were in with a large stack of papers his secretary had given him to sign."

"And do people believe that?"

"It's a mixed bag," Ron replied. "Fudge is enough of a bungler that it's very possible. But there are still a number of people calling for his resignation. Dad says things are crazy at the Ministry. Everyone's jockeying for position in case there's a new election."

"A new minister? But, that's good, right?"

"It depends on who it is. The thing about Fudge is, he's a bungling fool, but he's a good fool. Dad's known him for years, and he's a good person, paranoid delusions aside. Sure, he's easily impressed by the money and prestige of the old families like the Malfoys, but he's basically harmless."

"And he trusts Dumbledore, now that he knows Dumbledore doesn't want his job, and is following his advice. Who knows what the next minister will be like? You-Know-Who has a number of supporters within the ministry. Imagine if one of them came into power," Fred said with a shudder.

"They wouldn't have to," said Hermione. "Just the talk of replacing Fudge has put the Ministry's focus on internal politics instead of where it should be, fighting Voldemort. It's best that Fudge remains in power."

"And to think, I spent all last year wishing he'd be replaced," Harry said with a slight smile. "So, tell me about the trial. How did that come about?"

"Well, when the parents found out about what had been going on at school: opened mail, detentions, the Inquisitorial Squad, lack of practical instruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts, the attack on Professor McGonnagall – well, let's just say that there was an uproar," Hermione said.

"The Ministry received so many Howlers they had to put silencing charms up everywhere," Ron added.

"Mum sent one," Ginny interjected.

"She found out about everything Umbridge had done to you. Mum was so upset, she didn't just have kittens; she had full-grown cats. Never, have I been so glad that her anger was directed somewhere else," Fred said with a shudder.

The thought of Mrs. Weasley's being on the warpath in his defense made him feel inexplicably warm inside. He never ceased to be amazed by the way she cared for him. He could just imagine that this is what it would have been like had his mum been alive.

"So the Ministry brought Umbridge up on charges," George continued. "Violating students' rights, reading other's mail, use of 'cruel and unusual' punishments. We have the Muggle parents to thank for that one. Apparently it's a big deal with them. She had a full trial, in front of the Wizengamot, no less."

"Poetic justice. I wish I could have seen that," Harry said.

"You were there in spirit, mate," George said with a grin.

"See, they wanted you to testify about everything Umbridge had done to you, but Dumbledore felt it was best to leave you out of it. Things have a way of turning around and he didn't want the trial to turn into an attack against you," Fred said.

"Plus, you couldn't leave Privet Drive," George pointed out.

"But we still managed to get your name in there once or twice," Fred said with a smirk, "so that people would know the worst of her offenses."

"So what happened?"

"Well, some students testified about the conditions at Hogwarts," Hermione replied.

"You should have seen it!" Fred jumped in eagerly. "Lee testified about the detentions he had served with her and the lines she had made him carve in his hand. He went on and on about how he couldn't take notes because of the 'crippling pain' and how his N.E.W.T. revision suffered as a result."

"I heard the N.E.W.T. examining authority was going to let him retest," George said.

"The best part, though, was when he 'accidentally' let your name slip. He said, very dramatically mind you, that 'as torturous as the pain was though, it would have been a great deal worse if my housemate Harry Potter hadn't turned me onto using essense of murtlap on my hand to ease the pain.'

'And how did he come to need essence of murtlap?' the examiner asked.

Well, then Lee told them about you having to serve all those detentions with her and that when you told him about the murtlap essence he, quote, 'glanced down at Harry's hands and saw dozens of deep little cuts that hadn't fully healed yet.' He paused for dramatic effect before saying with a nice little shudder, 'I can still see those words burned into my mind.'

'And what did they say?' the examiner asked, with a practiced expression of horror.

You could have heard a quill drop when Lee softly answered, 'I will not tell lies.'"

"You could have knocked the Wizengamot over with a golden snitch feather," George interjected.

"It continued in this vein for a while with different students giving testimony. One of the O.W.L. administrators testified about the attack on Professor McGonagall," said Fred.

"Best of all, though, was Neville Longbottom. He told about that day in Umbridge's office. You should have seen the faces of the Wizengamot when they heard that Umbridge threatened you with the Cruciatius Curse and confessed that she had set the dementors on you last summer."

"I'm surprised they just took Neville's word," Harry said.

"Ah, but you forget, you're everyone's golden boy again. They're not going to let an attack against you go unpunished. Especially since Fudge wants everyone to forget that he tried so hard to discredit you last year."

"Plus, Neville was a very sympathetic witness – especially when he mentioned the bit about Umbridge threatening you with the Cruciatius Curse. His voice became very soft and his hands shook. And of course everyone knows what happened to his parents; most of the people on the Wizengamot had known them personally. They probably would have believed anything Neville said."

"After the trial the Wizengamot deliberated for like, five minutes before they came back and 'asked' Umbridge to step down from her position," Fred said.

"She got off easy," Ron spat. "She should be in Azkaban for what she did – Harry could have been Kissed!"

"Azkaban's too good for her," Hermione said. "But unfortunately, there is no way to prove that she was behind the dementor attack now that the dementors have joined Voldemort. Neville's testimony of her admittance is basically hearsay. And she didn't actually use the Cruciatius Curse on you so they can't charge her with that, either." She released an angry breath of air and sighed, her shoulders slumping with resignation.

"Well, the good news is that a number of parents are bringing civil suits against her for 'physical abuses and mental anguish suffered under her care.' She'll be tied up in court for years and by the time it's all over with she won't have a knut to her name. So, maybe this is better in the end."

"Still, it's not fair," Ginny hissed. "She does all that and she's still walking around free."

"Oh, she's not walking around free," Fred said.

"She's under house arrest," George added.

"She is? I didn't hear anything about that," Hermione said with a skeptical look.

"Well, not officially anyway," Fred amended.

"For some reason Ms. Umbridge doesn't want to leave her house."

"Apparently, she hears the clomping of centaur hooves every time she steps outside."

"It's the damnedest thing," George said with a shake of his head.

"Our former headmistress might be cracking up," Fred said.

"Might be," George agreed.

"What did you two do?" Hermione asked with a very small, but evil looking grin.

"Us? Why we did nothing!"

"Can we help it if the poor woman was traumatized by her experience with the centaurs?"

"Honestly! Some people just want to blame us for everything."

"That's because you're usually to blame," Hermione countered. "It doesn't take a seer to know that where there's trouble, you two aren't far behind."

"I thank you for the compliment, fair maiden," Fred said with a bow. "And speaking of seers…," he began, before being interrupted by Ron.

"Oh, you haven't heard the big news. Bigger than Umbridge. It's huge – all over the Daily Prophet this morning," Ron said.

"What?" Harry asked as his stomach filled with cold dread. He hadnt had a chance to read the Prophet before leaving Privet Drive. Had there been an attack?

"Trelawney's dead," Ron continued on, seemingly oblivious of his friend's anxious state. "It happened this morning. Made the front page and everything." Excitement rang in Ron's voice.

"Honestly, Ron. You could at least try and show some sympathy. The poor woman is dead and you're acting as if the Chudley Cannons had just managed to actually win a game," Hermione scolded.

Ron clutched at his chest as if mortally wounded by Hermione's attack on his beloved team. "Oy! You leave the Cannons out of this!"

"How did it happen?" Harry asked. His voice seemed distant to his ears. He was lost in memories of his dream. Voldemort had Professor Trelawney…there was a prophecy…and he was torturing her…Crucio!…and her screams echoed in his head…piercing. And now she was dead. _It really happened, then. It wasn't just a dream. And Voldemort killed her. And either must die…._

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear Ron's reply.

"Apparently, she Apparated in front of a bus early this morning in Muggle London. It was one of those dobbledocker-"

"Doubledecker," Hermione corrected.

"Right. Anyway, the muggles on the bus said that a woman just appeared out of thin air right in front of the bus. The driver didn't even have time to react before Bam!" Ron slammed his fist into his palm to emphasize what had happened.

Harry heard one of the twins snicker behind him.

"Fred!" Hermione admonished. "It isn't funny!"

"Oh, I beg to differ," George said with an open laugh. "Imagine being a witch, living in these times with a war on and all, Death Eaters at every corner and this is how you die. Flattened like a crepe by a muggle bus. It's very funny."

"Even funnier because it's her, Ms. Seer, Professor of Divination. I mean, shouldn't she have seen this coming?" Fred said.

"If only she had predicted her own death as many times as she's predicted Harry's – she might still be alive," Ron said.

"Well, I've always thought Divination was a useless subject," Hermione said with a slight lift of her chin. "But it doesn't change the fact that someone has died. Let's try and show a little respect."

"How did she end up in Muggle London? I mean, why was she there?" Harry asked.

"Well, the Mediwitches at St. Mungo's examined her body and found large amounts of Firewhiskey in her blood," Hermione replied.

"In other words, she got pissed and tried to Apparate and landed in the wrong place," Fred said.

"Which is why you should never Apparate when you're drunk. It's amazing she didn't splinch herself," George said with a shudder.

Harry's brow knitted together. Her death seemed natural enough. How did Voldemort fit into it?

"Harry? Are you okay?" Ginny asked.

Harry looked up from his thoughts. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine."

Ginny looked as if she wanted to argue the point but she simply shrugged and let the matter drop.

Ginny was standing just in front of Harry and so he then noticed that there was something…different about her. But what? Grateful for a chance to break the sudden tension in the room, he spoke to her.

"Were you this…tall in June? You seem…taller," he finished lamely.

"Yeah, I've had a little growth spurt," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Well, that's one way of putting it," Fred said with a wide, teasing grin. The grin vanished though when Ginny shot him a death glare capable of making even the darkest creature tremble with fear.

"Yes, well, anyway," Ginny turned back to Harry, "despite the couple of inches I've gained I'm afraid I'm destined to always be short." She smiled. "I was hoping to take after Dad but I'm afraid I'm Mum's daughter."

Harry nodded absently. Yes, she was taller. But there was still something…different about the diminutive redhead. But as his eyes flickered downward, he immediately remembered Ron's words from earlier. _Changes – wow, he's not kidding. Wizarding robes hide a lot._

He averted his gaze before he could be accused of ogling. His eyes met Ginny's of deepest brown and she smiled warmly at him. Her face lit up and Harry's stomach flipped strangely.

He wasn't as concerned, though, by his body's strange reactions. They were becoming quite frequent. It seemed that since he first noticed Cho Chang in his 3rd year that some kind of switch had been flicked on in his brain. One day they were girls, and the next they were Girls. He had noticed most of the Girls at Hogwarts at one time or another, including Hermione, so this was nothing unusual. _It doesn't mean anything._ Cho was the only girl he'd ever really fancied. So the sudden realization that Ginny Weasley was becoming quite pretty didn't bother him. So she was cute; he wasn't about to proclaim his undying love for her.

He turned back to Ron. "Okay, Umbridge, Trelawney. Anything else?"

"Nothing that we can really tell you, but look, here we have two Order members in our very midst," he said, glaring pointedly at Fred and George.

"D'you hear that, George?" Fred asked, cupping his ear with his hand.

George copied the motion. "Why yes, I do."

"It sounds like our dear mother is calling us for dinner."

"Yes, it does. That is, after all, the reason why we were sent up here to our favorite little brother's room."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Fine. Don't tell us anything. Oh, speaking of Umbridge, that reminds me," Ron said as he went to the closet in his room. "Dumbledore brought this by for you. Said you'd probably be wanting it back." He came back carrying a familiar broom which he held out for Harry.

"My Firebolt – thanks," Harry said softly, cursing the sudden lump in his throat. What was wrong with him? Why did every little thing make him want to cry?

Fred smiled sadly, as if sensing Harry's sudden shift in mood. He and George made to leave. "Right, well. Dinner." And with one last sympathetic glance at Harry, the redheaded twins left the room.

Ginny stood up. "Good. I'm starving." She flashed Harry a bright smile. "So we'll leave you to get freshened up and we'll meet you downstairs then." And she shot such strong looks to the other two that even Ron couldn't mistake her meaning.

Harry glanced down at the Firebolt in his hands. His first gift from his godfather, who had been alive the last time he'd seen the broom.

"Yeah," he croaked and cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'll meet you in a few." He sent a grateful smile to Ginny as she, Ron and Hermione left the room, leaving him alone with his memories of Sirius.


	4. Chapter Three

A/N: Sorry for the delay - I've been busy reading! I won't say anything for those who haven't read HBP but I believe the word "squeeeee!" just about covers it. Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and I am not making any money off of this story.

Chapter Three

Harry entered the Burrow's homey kitchen to find it empty save for Mrs. Weasley, who was currently tasting a delicious smelling sauce from a large pot.

"Hmmm. Needs more Toe of Newt," she murmured. She turned to see Harry and he was heartened to see her kind eyes light up. "Oh, Harry, there you are," she said as she came forward and wrapped her arms around him.

He couldn't help but close his eyes at the wonderful sensation of being held safely in a mother's arms. He marveled that he wasn't as uncomfortable to this display of affection as he'd been previously. He inhaled the scents of ginger biscuits, vanilla, and soap. The scents affected him strongly, as if he'd known them before. To his surprise he found himself responding to her embrace, arms tightening around her plump figure and he wondered if maybe his mum had smelled the same.

The embrace had been both too long and too brief when Harry pulled back, a little embarrassed by his emotion. He kept his eyes on the worn but freshly scrubbed wood table.

"Um, thank you for the letters and the pies, Mrs. Weasley. They…helped…a lot." He looked up to see her smiling sadly at him.

"I'm glad to hear it, Harry." She paused. "And, how are you doing?" she asked kindly.

"I'm…" he trailed off, the automatic response of "I'm fine," dying on his lips. He couldn't lie, not to Mrs. Weasley. He looked up at her and for the first time in his life, he consciously let down the walls around his heart and let her see exactly how he was doing; the grief, anger, and numb, numb shock. "I'm," he repeated, as if that was all there was to say.

He didn't even hesitate when she opened her arms to him again. "I know," she said quietly, her small, delicately strong hand rubbing gently along his upper back and shoulders. She held him at arm's length and looked in his eyes. They were strong and sympathetic. "I know."

She released him then and smiled at him. "Now then, why don't you go join the others at the table. We're eating outside this evening as there are so many of us and it's nice and warm out. I'll be along in a minute with dinner."

He forced himself to return her smile, grateful for the change of topic. It had been nice being held by her, but he just couldn't talk about _that_ yet, because talking would make it real, and he just couldn't handle that right now. He cleared his throat. "Okay. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No, thank you, Harry. Go on, I'll be out in a minute."

No one paid him any notice, to his surprise and great relief, when he joined the other Weasleys outside at the makeshift table that had been set up. Hermione did send him a concerned glance, though, and he nodded to show he was okay. He was glad for the dim light on that warm summer night that might conceal any evidence to the contrary. He received a slap on the back in welcome by Mr. Weasley who asked Harry how he liked his "disguise."

"I've got a closet full of muggle clothing in my shed that I've been hanging on to for years. Never knew when it would come in handy. Glad to finally get a chance to use it. I must say, though, muggles certainly like their colorful outfits. I guess the bright colors and patterns make up for the lack of magic in the cloth."

"Um, yeah," Harry agreed. He didn't have the heart to tell him that most muggles wouldn't be caught dead in an outfit like the one he'd worn that afternoon. He was spared a further response when Mrs. Weasley entered the yard through the kitchen door, followed by a dozen bowls and platters piled with food, all floating along in the air behind her.

Harry chose a spot beside Ron and the next few minutes were filled with dishing food onto plates and passing them around. By the time his plate had gotten back to him, Harry found that it was piled high with enough food for two people, or one Ron. He caught Mrs. Weasley's eyes from where she sat at one end of the table and guessed that she was the culprit. She simply winked and smiled at him.

"Eat up, Harry. I swear you're thinner every time I see you."

He smiled and set to, noticing with a grin that Ron's plate was already half cleared.

Talk around the table was light and Harry was glad for the chance to forget everything else. Hermione and Ginny were giggling over something – Harry didn't know what – and he was struck by the sight of Hermione with her hair and makeup charms and giggling and being, well, girly. It was an odd sight to be sure, but Harry couldn't help but smile. It seemed that having a girlfriend was good for Hermione. He wondered vaguely when the two girls had become so close.

Ron looked up from shoveling roast beef into his mouth and his eyes followed down Harry's line of sight. "Thick as thieves, those two," he told Harry. "And just as sneaky," he muttered. "All they do is whisper and giggle. 'S 'enough to drive a bloke mad." His ears tinged pink when a particularly raucous peal of laughter escaped the two girls.

But before Harry could question his friend, Ron turned his attention back to his plate. "Nutters, both of them," he stated, and as if that settled the matter, turned his attention back to his dinner.

Conversations floated in the air around him. "You'll have to visit our shop, Harry," Fred was saying.

"Yeah. We really lucked out on that one. The previous owner had died some years back and the widow didn't want to deal with managing the property, so we got the building for a great price, especially since we could pay gold up front."

"It came with a flat above the shop – that's where we live now – but we usually stop in once a day or so for meals."

Further down the table, Mrs. Weasley was talking with Bill and Ginny. "When are you going to bring that lovely Fleur over for dinner?" she asked Bill, causing him to cough into his tea.

"Yeah, Bill," Ginny piped up with an evil grin. "I hear her Eengleesh is greatly improved."

"Which is funny, since it's French that they're studying," Fred joked, making kissy faces that involved a great deal of his tongue. Harry snorted into his napkin while Mrs. Weasley admonished Fred.

"And you wonder why I haven't brought her over," Bill said dryly. He turned to Charlie, who had been enjoying the humor at his brother's expense. "Don't laugh – Mum's going to be all over you too now that you're back. So, Charlie, are there any special young women in your life?" he asked in an uncanny imitation of Mrs. Weasley.

"Please. I was getting that even in Romania. Never mind that I was on a secluded dragon reserve with five other blokes, all I ever heard in her letters was, have you met anyone lately, a lovely Romanian witch, perhaps?"

"Oh, now really. I'm not as bad as all that," Mrs. Weasley huffed. "If you two would just settle down and provide me with grandbabies then I would leave you alone."

"Oh! Are you really staying? You're not going back to the Reserve?" Ginny asked Charlie.

"Not for the time being, Gingersnap," Charlie replied, ruffling his sister's long red hair.

"Charlieee," she groaned, "I told you not to call me that!"

"I'm sorry, Giineevrraa," in a manner that suggested that he wasn't sorry at all.

"Hmmph. You're not my favorite brother anymore."

"So what are you going to be doing, if not dragon-keeping?" Ron asked.

"Who says I'm not dragon-keeping?" he answered vaguely. "Seriously though, I wanted to be home now what with everything that's going on, and who knows, maybe you'll be seeing more of me this year?"

Harry had little time to wonder about Charlie's cryptic statement before dinner was over. They shuffled inside and Ron turned to Harry. "Feel like losing to me in chess?"

A few minutes later Harry was looking for some way to get out of the hole he found himself in when he felt someone coming up behind him. He would later marvel that he didn't tense like he might have usually. A large, warm hand landed lightly on his shoulder and he looked up to see Mr. Weasley smiling down on them. Harry was suddenly reminded of the twins by the mischievous twinkle in the older man's eyes.

"Ah, chess," Mr. Weasley said. "You know, I was quite the strategist back in my day.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Sure, Dad."

Mr. Weasley smirked and noticing that it was Harry's move, leant down and whispered in Harry's ear. Harry grinned widely and moved his rook. "Checkmate!" he cried.

Ron gaped at the chessboard, astonished disbelief written across his features. "Dad! No fair!"

Mr. Weasley chuckled and ruffled Ron's hair. "Night, boys. Goodnight, girls," he called to Ginny and Hermione. "Don't stay up too late."

"Goodnight, Dad," the four teenagers chorused cheekily. They could hear Mr. Weasley's laughter floating behind him up the stairs.

Ron turned back to Harry and grinned evilly. "Right, then. Two out of three. And no more cheating."

Harry stuck out his tongue and began setting up the pieces for another game.

After an evening spent losing spectacularly to Ron in chess, and watching Ron watch the girls who were laughing and talking softly over a teen witch magazine, Harry happily trudged up the stairs of the Burrow, listening to them creak their familiar tune, and generally feeling more content than he had in some time. It wasn't until he reached Ron's room and saw his still packed trunk and the Firebolt on his bed that he remembered that he wasn't going to stay in this place that he had come to call home.

Instead, he would be traveling to headquarters soon. He thought of the gloomy old mansion with apprehension. It had been depressing enough last year when _HE_ was alive. How would it be now?

And Professor Lupin was living there now – the last of his father's friends. How would he face him? What would he say?

He was still brooding when Ron came in a few minutes later, somewhat pink faced. He plopped down on his bed and sunk his flaming face into his pillow.

"I don't understand girls," he said forlornly.

Harry thought of Cho. "I don't think we're supposed to."

A long silent moment passed and it looked as if Ron wasn't going to elaborate. Harry decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Hermione certainly seems…different," he said lightly.

Ron snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "You think you know a girl and then suddenly after five years, she goes all Lavender Brown on you."

"I think she looks nice. Don't you?" Harry asked, wondering why Ron's ears were now a telltale pink.

Ron shrugged. "She's okay. But it's her personality that's really changed. Do you know I haven't done a lick of homework this summer and she has yet to nag me! Not once! I'm telling you, Harry, something's up with that girl and it's all Ginny's fault! She wasn't like this before she got here and started staying up late, laughing with Ginny and talking about boys." He sighed, shaking his head. "Girls. They're nutters, the whole lot of them."

As Harry lay back on his bed with thoughts of Cho in various moods from last year running through his head, he couldn't help but think that Ron just might be right.

Mrs. Weasley woke him a few hours later from a dream in which he had visited the Incurable Malady Ward at St. Mungo's. Gilderoy Lockhart was beaming his Witch Weekly award winning smile and declaring in a loud voice, "Nutters! The whole lot of them!" Cho Chang was sitting in the next bed clutching a bouquet of red roses with massive tears streaming from her eyes.

"Michael Corner sent me these!" she cried. "Oh, I'm so happy!" And with that she proceeded to sob into her pillow.

Harry hastily walked past her bed to find Hermione sitting in the next bed with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, shrill giggles erupting from the three girls.

"And then he said, (whisper whisper) and I could have died!" Hermione was saying. "I mean he's just about the nicest boy at school. And I did our star charts and it says we are destined for each other. (sigh)"

Harry was in such a rush to get away from Hermione that he bumped into Luna Lovegood. She looked around the room with unusually focused eyes. "Can you believe it? I'm the sanest girl here. Well, I'm off. Crumpled Horn Snorkacks don't find themselves you know."

But it was the last occupant here in the Incurable Malady Ward that really shocked Harry. A very grown up, very beautiful Ginny Weasley was standing in front of him, and her long red hair seemed to glow and pulse as only colors in dreams can do.

"Don't look at me like that, Harry," she was saying sadly. "I'm over you."

The dream shifted and another woman with long red hair was holding him, shielding him and crying, "Not Harry! Please, not Harry!"

"Mum?" he murmured as his eyes blinked open.

"Wake up, Harry," Mrs. Weasley was saying. "We're leaving for Headquarters now."

She left the boys to get dressed and Harry fumbled for his glasses. "Why do we have to leave in the middle of the night?" he groaned.

Ron stumbled out of bed. "Moody."

Harry nodded and threw on his clothes while trying to gather his things together.

Minutes later he was downstairs, yawning and sitting on his trunk. Ginny and Hermione shuffled down the stairs shortly after, both looking adorably sleepy in their bedraggled state. Harry bit back a grin. Hermione had obviously forgone the hair charms; her brown mane was just as bushy as ever.

"How are we getting there?" Harry asked Ron.

"Bu-us,"he yawned.

"Those who can Apparate have gone ahead," Mrs. Weasley said, entering the room from the kitchen. "An Order member will be taking you four by Knight Bus."

"Oh, who is it?" Harry asked.

He was answered by a loud CRASH from the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley groaned. "TONKS!" she yelled.

"My bad!" a disembodied voice yelled from the kitchen. "Sorry, Mrs. W." The kitchen door swung open to reveal the auror and Order member, Nymphadora Tonks, whose hair was currently a fetching shade of puce. She smiled a greeting at Harry and looked around at the four teenagers. "Right, then. All packed and ready to go?" She waved her wand and the school trunks roped themselves together in a line and rose into the air. "We'd best get moving, then. Mad-Eye and some others are on the Knight Bus now pretending to be regular passengers so we'd better not keep them waiting." She smirked evilly. "Moody doesn't travel well, so he's likely to be a bit of a grouch."

"Is he ever not a grouch?" Ron asked.

And indeed the old auror was looking a little green around the gills by the time the group boarded the Knight Bus. "Don't look at me!" he growled as they passed. "You don't know me, you've never seen me before, we're strangers on a bus, got it?"

Harry and Ron walked on and Harry smirked to hear Ron mutter "Constant Vigilance," under his breath. They found beds at the back of the bus and prepared themselves for the leisurely, relaxing ride before them. Ron lay down on his bed. "Gee, I hope I don't fall asleep," he quipped sarcastically. Harry laughed, thinking that he was so tired that he just might do that.

He was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when they entered headquarters. It was as dark and quiet as he remembered from his first visit, but Harry could immediately tell something was different. The oppressive air of death and despair that had hung over the Black house was gone. Everything was still; it was almost…peaceful.

"Mum's done a lot of work here fixing the place up," Ron said as if reading Harry's mind.

"We helped," Ginny piped up with a groan. "My back still hurts."

"Yes, well, let's not stand here in the dark hallway," Tonks said. With a wave of her wand, the torches along the wall sprang to life, bathing the foyer in a warm glow. Even from the dim light Harry could see that Ron was right. Headquarters looked a great deal different from how he remembered. It was not only cleaner; it seemed more…cheerful somehow.

"Well come along now. Let's get your things settled in your rooms." Tonks stepped forward and promptly tripped over the umbrella stand, dropping Ginny's trunk with a loud crash.

Harry winced, bracing himself for the loud screams that surprisingly, never came. "I'm surprised that didn't wake up Mrs. Black," he said as they dragged their trunks upstairs.

"Good news there, mate," Ron replied. "Mrs. Black is no longer with us."

"They finally found a way to get her down?"

"Something like that." They entered the boys' room and dropped their trunks at the foot of their beds. Ginny and Hermione joined them on their beds.

"We had just gotten back from the memorial service and Mrs. Black made the mistake of mouthing off to Remus about Sirius. You know, going on about how he was worthless and had gotten what he deserved and that she only wished she could have seen him die."

Harry clenched the blanket in his fists. He had seen him die, had heard Bellatrix's curse, had seen him flying backward through the air to fall through the Veil. Even now he could hear her cruel laughter taunting him.

Ron continued with a sympathetic smile at his friend, breaking Harry out of his reverie. "Anyway, Professor Lupin just…lost it. I've never seen him so…angry doesn't even describe it. And he didn't even say anything; he just stood there, clenching his fists and staring at the portrait with a look of utter hatred. I could almost feel the fury coming off of him. It was so cold," he said with a shudder. "Scary."

Ginny nodded in agreement.

"It was even scarier because it was Professor Lupin, a man who has always epitomized self-control," Hermione said. "He is so calm and peaceful that it's hard to believe he turns into a werewolf every month. But as he stood there glaring at the portrait, I caught a glimpse of the beast within. Anyway, like Ron said, he didn't say a word but just stormed out. We were woken up later that night by piercing screams.

We raced downstairs to find Mrs. Black screaming in apparent pain although I wouldn't think that portraits could actually feel anything, but there she was, screaming while Professor Lupin poured turpentine over the painting, as calm as you please. Finally, she and her screams melted into a muddy little puddle on the floor which was easily taken care of with a scouring charm. He just stood there, a look of grim satisfaction on his face. He whispered something and then went to his room. I didn't hear what he said."

"He said, 'This is for you, Padfoot. Sleep well, old friend.'" Ginny said softly.

Silence fell over the room, each of the teenagers lost in their own memories of the fallen Marauder.

"Good for him," Harry said, his thick voice breaking the silence. "I'll bet Kreacher loved that."

"Good news there, too. Kreacher is, ah, no longer with us."

"Really?" Harry smiled. "Wait, he didn't run to the Malfoys, did he? Like last Christmas? What if he tells them about the Order?"

"Relax, Harry. He's not with the Malfoys, or anyone else for that matter. You know how his life's ambition was to have his head mounted on the wall next to his ancestors? Well, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Mum found the body in the kitchen," Ron explained.

"Along with the head," Ginny said with a disgusted shudder.

Harry blinked in shock. "Kreacher's dead? Wow…all I can say is good riddance."

"It was nice of him to save us the trouble. Nicest thing that rat ever did," Ron spat bitterly.

Harry turned to Hermione, expecting a S.P.E.W. lecture. "You're strangely quiet. Aren't you going to defend him like you always do?"

"Why should I? Sirius is dead because of him. We all almost died because of him," she replied, uncharacteristic anger coloring her voice. "If he hadn't lied to you that day, then we would have known that your vision was false – we wouldn't have gone to the Department of Mysteries and Sirius would still be…." She trailed off when her chin began to tremble and Harry immediately regretted his burst of anger toward his friend.

Hermione swiped at the tears in her eyes and cleared her throat. "I know I can be very…well, you know," she met Harry's eyes and smiled apologetically, "and I still believe very strongly in elf rights." She lifted her chin at this and looked for a second like the old Crusader-Hermione. "And I still pity Kreacher. It wasn't his fault – the Blacks made him that way. It's just…I guess I've gained a new perspective this summer. Having your ribs cracked in a fight for your life will do that to you. There are just…more important things going on right now."

"Does this mean spew is over?" Ron asked with a helpful smile.

"On hold, is more like. Until after the war, when I'm in more of a position to really make some changes."

"Like Minister of Magic?" Ron teased.

"Maybe. Anyway, there's no point getting upset over something that's already been done. Kreacher chose to take his life, which honestly, saved the Order the trouble. When Sirius died, Kreacher was no longer bound to the Order. There was nothing keeping him from telling all the Order's secrets to the Malfoys. He really did us a favor.

"Well, I'm glad he's gone," Harry said. "I wouldn't have been able to take his insults about Sirius, or Mrs. Black's, for that matter." He smiled at Hermione. "And I wouldn't have been able to take you going on and on about how we should be nice to him, so thank you. Your support on this means a lot to me."

They were still talking later when Mrs. Weasley came by to check on them. "You four should be in bed," she said. Harry noticed that she was still wearing her robes from that day. Apparently she hadn't yet been to bed either.

"Sorry, Mum," Ginny said, "but I don't think we'll be able to sleep just yet. We're all wound up now."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "No, I don't suppose you can sleep, what with Moody and his crazy schedules." She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, come on downstairs then and have some cocoa with us."

_Us?_ Apparently they weren't the only ones unable to sleep that night. The teens followed Mrs. Weasley down to the kitchen.

A fire roared brightly in the hearth, casting a warm glow in the room. Harry paused in the doorway, spotting a lone occupant at the table, a steaming mug wrapped in his long, thin fingers. Remus Lupin looked up, his eyes locking onto Harry's and Harry was taken aback by the raw, naked emotion in the other man's eyes.

Harry faltered. He'd seen Lupin a number of times over the summer, but always for short Just-checking-up-on-you-how-are-you-doing visits during which _his_ name never came up and during which they'd talked about Quidditch, the D.A., and marauding tales from Lupin's school years. But now that he was seeing him, here, in _his_ house meant that eventually they would have to discuss _him_, the one loss they both had in common as _he_ had been their last link to James and Lily.

Lupin smiled hesitantly at Harry. "Hello, Harry. How was your summer?" he asked with the air of one inquiring of a distant acquaintance.

"Um. Fine." He watched Mrs. Weasley bustle around the kitchen fixing mugs of hot cocoa.

"Oh, Harry, I asked Professor Dumbledore about your self defense idea and he agreed that it was a good idea. How were you thinking about implementing it?"

"Well mainly I've thought of using it in the D.A., but the problem is that I don't really know any of these 'martial arts.' I've read a couple of books on the subject, but reading about something and doing it are two different things. It would be great to bring in a master from one of these disciplines to teach us, but I don't know how common it is in the Wizarding world."

"Not very," Lupin agreed. "At least not in the western Wizarding world. In the East, on the other hand, in parts of Asia and Africa, martial arts and the use of magic are so intrinsically linked that it is believed that magic evolved from martial arts disciplines. And certainly many of the higher level martial arts techniques look just like magic."

"Yeah! The books claim there are legends about kung-fu masters being able to heal, or kill simply by hitting certain parts of the body called pressure points. And some were able to absorb the life-energy from their surroundings and then manipulate the energy, or chi, to use as a weapon, or to heal, or prolong their lives. There are one or two legends of people even reaching immortality – or at least living a very long time."

"Wow. Muggles can do all that?" Ron asked. "Why don't we know about it?"

Remus chuckled. "Well, most muggles can't do that; in fact the whole of martial arts are only practiced or studied by a minority of muggles, and mostly in the areas of the world I mentioned before. And even then the legends represent a scant handful of martial arts masters who had spent their entire lives in dedication to the practice. The various Wizarding governments in those areas are well aware of it and again, many of those legendary masters are actually believed to be wizards, or to have had some form of innate magical ability. In Britain, muggles mainly study it to learn self-defense skills, or for health/exercise reasons, and the ones who do learn the martial art for its own sake, usually only do so to reach a certain level, such as black belt. Rarely do people study it their entire lives as would be necessary to gain the abilities the legends tell about."

"My mum takes yoga classes," Hermione said. "She meets with others in a park near her practice."

"Yoga? That sweet, sour milk stuff that muggles eat?" Ron asked.

"That's yogurt, Ron," Hermione corrected.

"Yoga is a discipline of martial arts that is studied primarily for exercise and health benefits," Remus clarified. "Getting back to your question though, Harry, the trick will be finding someone in the Wizarding world who is also experienced enough in martial arts to provide instruction to students, and possibly even give you special training. But Professor Dumbledore does have a few ideas on that, so don't worry."

The conversation trailed off and everyone busied themselves by sipping their cocoa. Time passed and an awkward silence hung in the kitchen as everyone's minds were on the one person they were afraid to mention. Harry took a sip of his cocoa and cast about for something to talk about. He had to break the silence, or he would just think about _him._

"The house looks very different – much nicer, Mrs. Weasley."

"Well, we've certainly done a great deal of cleaning. I don't know if the kids mentioned it, but Kreacher has passed, and so the cleaning effort has actually gone quicker without his interference. However, it's still going to require some effort to keep it this way, so I'm going to need you kids to help me while we're here. Now that it is clean, it won't be such an ordeal though. We just need to finish the rooms we haven't got to, and keep the remaining rooms clean – we should be able to maintain the house we just a couple of hours hard work each day. After the kids go back to Hogwarts, Remus, we should ask Albus about sending a house elf from Hogwarts to maintain the house."

"That's a good idea. We're going to have to do something about it, that's for certain."

"Why does it need so much cleaning?" Ron asked with a grumble. "I mean, yeah, it's a big house, but we've already put in more hours than it should have taken to clean, especially considering that some of us were using magic. Is it something to do with the house? Because it feels like the house is fighting against us."

"That's actually a very accurate supposition," Lupin answered. "Dark emotions like the kind the Blacks were filled with don't die away just because their owners did. This house has seen a lot of negative energy for generation after generation. That energy feeds on itself, growing bigger and bigger until the very house is saturated with anger and hate. In addition, many of the Blacks were practitioners of the darkest magicks, and the force generated by those spells doesn't fade, but weaves itself into the physical fabric of the building. This is, essentially, a Dark house, and such dwellings are hotbeds of infestation, attracting all manner of dark creatures and pests. This isn't something that can be changed overnight. It's going to take years of occupation by Light practitioners to erase the mark left by the Blacks."

"Can this 'dark energy' be good for Buckbeak, or us for that matter?" Harry asked.

"Oh, we're in no danger, we've exorcised the worst of it. It's probably not a good idea to spend a huge amount of time here; I think that's what happened to Kreacher. Spending ten years locked up in a Dark house will do that to anyone, elf or human. As for Buckbeak, he's back at Hogwarts with Hagrid. We've disguised his appearance, and he's being kept in the outer fringes of the Forbidden Forest so he's pretty safe. Besides, the Ministry doesn't have time to track down an escaped hippogriff."

"I'm glad for Buckbeak," Harry said with a watery smile. "Being cooped up here wasn't good for him. It's not good for anyone," he added softly. There was no mistaking that Harry was talking about _him _and once again a somber silence fell over the kitchen.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley stood to her feet. "Well, we'd better be getting to bed as we've got a lot to do tomorrow. We'll want to get up early if we want to get our cleaning in and still have part of the day for fun."

The teenagers got to their feet and began filtering out the kitchen door. Re us held Harry back as the others left the kitchen. "Harry, there's a matter we need to discuss."

Harry swallowed at the somber tone in the man's voice. "Okay, Prof- um, Remus. What is it?"

Remus slowly sank into a chair at the table and motioned for Harry to do the same. "It's – well, it's Sirius. His will." He paused as if gathering his thoughts. "Last year, shortly after Christmas, Sirius drafted a will, in case anything should happen to him. I think that after Arthur's close call, he realized that something could happen to him and he didn't want to leave you…well…alone. He knew that you had your parents' money and yes, you have the Dursleys, but he wanted you to have a…guardian. Someone to guide you and look after you in the way that he has always tried to."

"Do you mean like another godfather? Is it you?"

A soft smile flicked across Lupin's face. "Yes, so to speak. I will actually be sharing that role with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He knew that they see you as a seventh son and he wanted you to have that parental element in your life. Which isn't to say that they could ever replace James and Lily. But, Molly loves you like one of her own – and everyone should have that in their life.

"Sirius also knew that Molly's, well, 'molly coddling' would drive you mad in short order so he wanted me to provide some balance. I will be the voice of reason and logic, when her emotions get to be too much."

"So, what does this mean for me? How would this work? Are the Weasleys adopting me?"

Remus smiled. "Oh, I dare say they would if you wanted them to – although you would still have to spend the next holiday with the Dursleys – until you turn 17, that is. Officially, though, I am your godfather and legal guardian in the Wizarding world. But there will be times when I won't be able to be there for you; full moons, Order missions. That's where the Weasleys come in. Sometimes, especially in light of the prophecy, it's easy for people to see you as…a savior, a weapon."

"Like Dumbledore?" Harry asked, a trace of resentment coloring his voice.

Remus clasped Harry's shoulder and gave an understanding smile. "Professor Dumbledore is in the unfortunate position of having to weigh the lives of many against the needs of the few. I do not agree with every decision he has made regarding you. But I have the luxury of not being responsible for the welfare of the Wizarding community. People look to him for guidance and security. Parents send their children to Hogwarts – even in the midst of a war – because that's where Dumbledore is. Everyone trusts him to keep them safe. It is a great burden to place on one man's shoulders. For the sake of the Wizarding community, and even the muggle world, Voldemort must be stopped, and you are the only one who can do it. What are the emotional needs of one boy against the lives of so many?"

"So I am just a weapon then," Harry spat bitterly. "And that's why my parents died – to save me so I could save the world from Voldemort."

"Your parents died because they loved you and they wanted you to live, even at the cost of their own lives. Don't ever doubt their love for you. When Lily first heard of the prophecy, she refused to believe it. She fought it at every step. She didn't want that for you – to kill or be killed. It didn't matter that there was finally a chance of stopping Voldemort. All she could think about was you – about what the prophecy would mean for you. And she didn't want you to know about it. She made Professor Dumbledore swear that he wouldn't ever tell you the contents of the prophecy.

"She just wanted you to have a happy, normal life. And that's a mother's job – to consider her own children before others, to put their needs first. And that's where Molly comes in. When everyone else is thinking of you as a secret weapon, she will be looking out for your best interests, in the way that only mothers can. And I will as well. That is, if you want us to."

There was a long moment of thoughtful silence. Harry spoke up. "That – sounds nice. Do Mr. and Mrs. Weasley know?"

"They've already agreed. Sirius had actually approached Molly about it last summer, after seeing how she cared for you."

"But…they fought about me," Harry questioned, remembering the tense argument between Mrs. Weasley and Sirius last summer over how much information Harry should be given.

Remus ruffled Harry's hair as he stood up. "All parents disagree at some point on how to raise their children."

Harry had to smile at the thought, even if Sirius would no longer be playing the role of "father." But the reminder of Sirius's death brought to mind something else. "Professor, you mentioned Sirius's will?"

The easy smile faded from the older man's face. "Yes. The barristers who were handling the estate actually held the reading of the will at the beginning of the summer; we had to be sure that #12 wouldn't go to someone else in the Black family, like the Malfoys. Even though you were named as a beneficiary, it wasn't necessary that you attend because I was there as your legal guardian in the Wizarding world. We just felt that for you to have to attend the reading so soon after… well, that it might be difficult for you, and an unnecessary hardship."

"Yeah, I don't think I could've….So, what do you mean by estate?"

"Well, you know Sirius was the last remaining Black and as such was the heir to the Black family fortune."

"Yeah, but I thought that they had disowned him or something. They removed his name from the Black family tapestry and he said that the only money he'd had was the trust from his uncle. Why didn't the Blacks give the money to the Malfoys or the Lestranges?"

"Well, when they died – Sirius was still in Azkaban and believed to be Voldemort's greatest supporter. Mr. and Mrs. Black believed that Sirius had only pretended to like Muggleborns and that he was actually working as a spy for Voldemort. So, when they made out their will, they named Sirius as their sole heir, provided he ever left Azkaban. Otherwise, upon his death everything would go to the Malfoys. It's a very good thing he escaped when he did. So, everything went to him, including the house."

"But he didn't want it."

Remus chuckled. "Oh no, not a single knut. But he realized that it was better that he have it, than the Malfoys. It's less money going to fund Voldemort's war. Sometimes in a war, money can mean the difference between victory and defeat. Why do you think we're so anxious to make sure the goblins don't join Voldemort? It's also why you should keep what Sirius gave you. I know you don't want the Blacks' money – I don't either. But Sirius, he wanted you to have it."

"So what did the will say, then?"

"Well, basically, you get everything. The house and the possessions housed within, the contents of both the Black Family Vault and Sirius's personal vault at Gringott's, and whatever other holdings the Blacks had with a few exceptions. He gave some gold to Tonks, the Weasleys, and myself and distributed a few other items of sentimental value." Remus chuckled. "He gave Fred and George a book containing all of our notes from school; pranks, cool spells and charms; there's even a section on becoming animagi, and creating the Marauder's Map. I had completely forgotten that book even existed."

"Just what they needed - more ideas. As if they aren't dangerous enough by themselves."

"I know. It's a good thing they've already left Hogwarts, or Minerva would never forgive Sirius. Speaking of, in addition to the actual will, Sirius left behind a few messages, including one for you. I don't know how much you know about Wizarding wills but messages from the deceased are pretty common and the messages are delivered in an…unusual manner. I just want you to be prepared."

And so, Harry wasn't surprised a few minutes later to find Sirius's head floating in the middle of the kitchen table. He avoided looking at the ghostly apparition. It wasn't really Sirius, he knew, but a mere reflection of himself at the time of the will's writing. A mere memory, much like that of Tom Riddle in his diary.

Harry shut his eyes tightly when a familiar voice began speaking from the center of the table.

"Hey, Pup. I always called you Pup when you were a babe, but I guess Pup isn't really an accurate name – probably should be something like Fawn, but that sounds too poofy. Pup, now that's a nice macho name. Lily always called you Bambi, which I never understood – apparently it's a muggle thing."

Harry gradually relaxed and opened his eyes. He looked at the transparent image of his godfather and was startled to find Sirius's eyes locked on his. Remus had told him that Sirius would be unaware of Harry's presence but it still was so shocking. Harry shifted his chair until the ghostly gaze was no longer directly on him.

"Sorry, I'm rambling," the ghost Sirius was saying with a wry twist of his lip. "This is my tenth time doing this message and I vowed that no matter what I said or how idiotic I sounded that I would keep going until it was done. Besides, with any luck, we'll be sitting around when I'm seventy drinking Butterbeer and laughing about this so maybe this is all moot.

However, if you are seeing this, then I have managed to bite the big one, probably as a result of my own stupidity. See, I was always really good at getting myself into to trouble, and not so good at getting out of it. That's what James was for." The ghost Sirius's eyes seem to cloud and lose their focus.

"Since James died it seems like my life has been one big mess of trouble – oh wait, it has! At least until you came along, Pup. It hasn't always been sunshine and roses, but you gave me something I hadn't had in a long time, and that's purpose. A person can live without a lot of things, including love. Twelve years in Azkaban taught me that. But one thing you can't live without is purpose, and that's what kept me going in there; kept me from giving up to the dementia the dementors bring. Peter was still out there, somewhere, and I was the only one who knew that he was a threat to you.

I don't really know what to say except life…has not been good to me. And I don't mean this to sound self-pitying or suicidal or anything, but I have to say that the thought of dying doesn't really bother me. Mainly, I'm worried about leaving you and Remus behind, but you will at least have him there with you, unless he too has kicked it, in which case I'm going to thump him good when I see him again. And I will see him. I'll see James and Lily, and you, when the time is right. And that's what makes this okay. It's not good-bye, it's see you later.

So don't worry about me, Pup. I'm going to be just fine. And hopefully I went out in style, and not because I took a tumble down the stairs because otherwise I will never hear the end of it.

So, in closing, live long, live happy, kiss a pretty girl or two – or boy, if that's your thing, please tell me that is not your thing, but if it is, that's okay because there's nothing wrong with it. I myself have been known to – well, that's a story for another day.

Anyway, take care of yourself and I'll see you on the other side."

And with that the ghostly image faded, leaving Harry alone in the dark with his grief.


	5. Chapter Four

I am not JKR and I am not making any money off of this. Sigh.

A/N: There's a wonderfully immature scene involving inappropriate humor of an anatomical nature. The Double Delights strike again!

Chapter Four

The next day saw the beginning of the cleaning efforts. The four teenagers woke fairly late in the morning and had a leisurely breakfast before getting started on the top floor. They all worked together, Mrs. Weasley working beside them in case of some unknown danger. An old radio played music from the Wizarding Wireless Network and so the work went fairly quickly.

"Wait a moment before starting on those curtains, Ron," Mrs. Weasley said, walking over toward the heavy, dark drapes. She inspected the moth eaten fabric. "Just as I suspected, the doxies are back. I'm going to get some doxy remover – don't touch anything until I get back." She left the room and the four promptly straightened up from whatever backbreaking chore they were doing and plopped down on the floor.

Ginny had no sooner sat down before shooting back up to her feet with a loud squeal of fright.

"What? What is it?" Hermione asked, also getting to her feet.

Ginny pointed at a spot near where she'd been sitting. "Spider – Eugggh!" she said with a disgusted shudder.

Ron stared at the spot she was pointing at. "Where?"

"There!"

Ron squinted as did Harry. He thought he saw something. "Oh, Merlin," Ron muttered. "It's just a little house spider. Here, I'll get it." He took three steps and stomped on the spider.

He showed Ginny the bottom of his shoe that was decorated with tiny spider guts. "Okay, now?"

Hermione turned to Ginny. "I didn't know you were afraid of spiders."

"Oh, I'm not. I just don't want them crawling on me – there's a difference. That one took me by surprise."

"And speaking of arachnophobia," Harry said, gaping at Ron, "who are you and what have you done with Ron? Aren't you…well…_afraid_ of spiders?"

Ron seemed to ponder this. "Ehh, not so much. Not anymore. I noticed it shortly after getting back. A large jumping spider landed on my bed and my first reaction was to be afraid but I looked at it and I just knew that I wasn't scared – not anymore. It's like, being afraid was something I'd done because I'd always done it before – like an automatic response – habit. But I realized that that fear wasn't really there, I just picked up the spider and threw it out the window. They haven't bothered me since. Weird," he said with a shrug.

"Well, not really," Hermione said. "I mean, I've felt that way too. I realized it the day O.W.L. results arrived and I realized that I hadn't once thought or worried about the results. And once they were here I felt somewhat ambivalent. I just knew that I had done well enough no matter what my score and that there was no need to worry about it. Well, I was a little worried, after all they are very important and have a huge impact on our futures," she admitted with a small smile, sounding once again like herself.

"Anyway, now I hear Ron talk about it, I think I know why this is," Hermione continued. "We've experienced true fear, in the Department of Mysteries. Sure, we had been in adventures with you before, but not the worst of them and certainly not the kind of life or death battle we experienced there. A poor grade on some test seems kind of silly by comparison."

Harry nodded; he could understand that. Once again he was seeing yet another example of how the battle last June had affected his friends. He was so used to bearing the scars from his many encounters with Voldemort that it was hard for him to see those same battle scars on his best friends – even now faint silver lines crossed Ron's forearms – and to know that he was the cause of his friends' suffering. He couldn't think of this.

"So," he joked to Ron, "I take it your boggart form is no longer Aragog?"

At the name of the giant spider, Ron turned a familiar shade of green. "Oh, well now. Aragog is another matter, isn't he? I mean, common house spiders are one thing but Aragog…bleeghh," he shuddered.

Harry clapped Ron on the back. "Well, it's nice to know that some things don't change."

They rested from their labors that afternoon and enjoyed a respite. Ron and Hermione played chess while Harry and Ginny looked on. At the opposite end of the table Fred and George were discussing business while Mrs. Weasley darned socks in a corner.

Harry was really getting into the game as it had gone on for some time. Ron was playing uncharacteristically poorly; he had made many careless mistakes throughout the game. Harry could see that he was having a hard time keeping his mind on the game. Chess was one of Ron's favorite hobbies and one thing he excelled at. Harry wondered what could possibly be distracting him from the game. Or perhaps it wasn't a "what" but a "who" as Harry noticed Ron glancing repeatedly at Hermione when she wasn't looking. Her hair was still tied up as she had worn it for cleaning earlier and a couple of chestnut curls had escaped their ribbon confinement. _Well, that explains it._ He met Ginny's laughing eyes across the table and grinned.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ginny reach for the hard candy bowl. She blindly selected a piece, unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth, all the while keeping her eyes glued to the game.

Harry paid this no attention; Ron seemed to be rallying as he took Hermione's queen with his knight. But a warning bell was beginning to go off in the back of his mind.

Then it suddenly hit him.

"Ginny, no!" he warned. But it was too late. She was staring wide-eyed at the empty wrapper in her hand. A loud gurgling rumble could be heard from her stomach. She cast a hurt gaze on Fred and George as a horrified realization dawned on her. She had eaten a Double Delight.

A choked sob fell from her lips as she stood to her feet. Wrapping her arms around her herself, she fled from the kitchen, long red hair flying behind her. Harry flinched as he heard her bedroom door slam above him.

He turned to the twins to gauge their reaction. They too were staring at the wrapper.

"She didn't," George said.

"She did," Fred replied.

"But she's already got-…"

"I know. Isn't this great!" There was a mad scientist gleam in Fred's eyes as he stood to his feet. "We should document the results," he said. But he was stopped with a glare from Mrs. Weasley as she got to her feet. Having missed most of the events, she was only just piecing together what had happened. And she was not happy.

Hermione stood, obviously anxious not to witness the coming display of Mrs. Weasley's temper. "I'd better go check on Ginny," she said softly, walking quickly from the room.

Mrs. Weasley wasted no time launching into the twins. "THAT'S IT! I HAVE HAD IT! Fred Weasley, don't you DARE tease your sister now! She's been through enough at your hands. And as for the two of you and your wheezes – I HAVE HAD IT! It's one thing for you to pass them off on the poor fools who actually pay for them, but to intentionally leave them lying around for your own unsuspecting family and friends to stumble onto, well it, IT ISN'T FUNNY!

"Now, I didn't say a word when you left school last year to open your shop, because believe it or not, all I've ever wanted is for you to be happy – BUT YOU WILL STOP BRINGING THESE THINGS HERE!"

Mrs. Weasley was too busy yelling to notice the kitchen door open, but Harry turned to see Bill coming through with a concerned expression on his face. "Mum, what's wrong with Ginny? I can hear her crying throughout the house." Harry noticed that there was an underlying edge of panic in the young man's voice.

Mrs. Weasley calmed a bit. "She's fine," she soothed. "She's just been the victim of these two again," she said somewhat casually, in extreme contrast to her previous reaction.

But Bill was having none of it. "What! This nonsense again!" The oldest Weasley son rounded on his brothers. Harry was shocked at the hard expression on his face. Always the epitome of cool, Bill had never even shown the slightest temper in front of Harry before, but as Harry looked on him now he knew that Bill was definitely a Weasley.

"What is wrong with you two?" he roared.

Fred and George turned shocked eyes to their oldest brother. Clearly, they were just as surprised by Bill's reaction as Harry was. "We've already had a lecture from Mum, thanks," George said.

"Yeah, we get the message," Fred agreed.

"No, I don't think you do," Bill replied hotly. "She is your sister – your only sister. You should be protecting her from pain – not being the cause of it." His anger having apparently passed, he continued in a calmer, softer voice. "She won't always be with us. One day you'll realize how special she is – but it will be too late." Harry froze at Bill's ominous words. What was he talking about?

"Bill," Mrs. Weasley said in warning. Bill suddenly paled, as if realizing he'd said too much.

"I, I just mean that she's growing up, and she won't always be around," he explained quickly.

Harry and Ron exchanged bewildered glances. Mrs. Weasley, having just taken notice of their presence, sent them away to wash up for dinner while Fred and George's punishment was to help in the kitchen – "no magic!"

After exiting the bathroom, Harry stopped outside the girls' room. He was relieved when he didn't hear any crying but instead Hermione's voice.

"There, I think that's got them back to their normal size."

Harry cringed, not sure if he wanted to overhear this type of conversation. But he didn't move away.

"Thanks, Hermione," came Ginny's sniffling voice. "Stupid gits – why can't they just leave me alone? As if I didn't already know that I'm an ugly sniff misshapen, big-chested freak. I don't need them reminding me of it every five seconds."

_How can Ginny think she's ugly_, Harry wondered. He had half a mind to tell her so, but that would mean admitting that he'd heard their conversation.

"Ginny Weasley, you are not ugly! You know half the boys at Hogwarts are crazy about you, right?"

"If they aren't, then they will be when they see these things," Ginny replied glumly. "I feel like they are the only thing people see. I can hear them now, 'Here comes Ginny's Knockers.'"

Harry heard a sound as if Hermione was holding in a laugh and came out instead as a snicker. "Now you're being silly. They aren't even as big as all that. There are much bigger 'knockers' at school."

"Really?"

"Well, yes. I mean, Pansy Parkinson's are huge – why do you think she's so popular with the Slytherin boys/"

"I had wondered about that – I mean, she's ugly even by Slytherin standards."

This time Hermione didn't hide her laughter. But Ginny wasn't yet done with her insecurities. "But Fred and George…"

"Are just being Fred and George," Hermione interrupted. "You know you can't take anything they say seriously. They're just freaked out because you're their 'baby sister.' Trust me, you are just the right size for your body. I myself wouldn't mind being a little bigger…"

And at this Harry quickly walked away. He definitely didn't need to hear the rest of that conversation.

Harry and Ron were quiet in their room while they waited for the call to come down for dinner. They weren't there long though when there was a loud CRACK! Followed by the twins' sudden appearance in the middle of the room.

"Dinner's ready," George said in a somewhat subdued manner. Subdued for the twins, at least.

"Listen, we've been thinking of a way to cheer Ginny up," Fred began.

"But we're going to need everyone's help for this," George finished.

"And it's going to require…a bit of a sacrifice."

And so it was when Ginny finally entered the kitchen for dinner that she found everyone else already sitting at the table. Her sad eyes swept over the table, looking for an empty seat. They stopped and then with a questioning frown they passed over the people again, slowly. Her face slowly broke into a grin and she shook her head as the occupants at the table began laughing.

"I don't believe this," she groaned.

Everyone seated at the table, with the exception of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Hermione, were currently bearing the effects of Double Delights.

"Very funny, you guys," Ginny said, but her voice showed she wasn't angry. As if to prove her good humor, she chose an empty seat between Fred and George, who both grabbed her in a suffocating hug that mashed her face in Fred's chest.

"MMMPH! Get those things out of my face!" she cried, laughing. And with that everyone at the table set to.

Between mouthfuls of amazing beef stew, Harry snuck glances down the table. He was amazed at the feeling of belonging that settled over him. As he sat at the table, surrounded by his friends, his true family, he realized that he was the happiest he'd been since losing Sirius.

But the reminder of Sirius threatened to chase away his fleeting happiness. He looked around him; they were sitting in Sirius's kitchen, laughing and talking at his table. And no one seemed to notice that they were missing someone, that there should be someone else there.

Harry sighed inwardly, trying to shake his mood off. It wasn't like he wanted to feel this way. He yearned for the early days, the good old days when everything was so much simpler. Before Voldemort and secret prophecies.

He remembered fighting a Voldemort-possessed Quirrell for the Philosopher's Stone, fighting a pre-Voldemort Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets. How easy life had seemed then. The thought almost brought a wry smile to his face. He couldn't believe that he was actually wishing to be back in the Chamber of Secrets.

"That's a good look for you." A feminine voice in his ear brought him out of his thoughts.

He looked up into Ginny's rich chocolate brown eyes.

"Um – what?" he asked.

In answer, her eyes darted down to his chest. He followed her gaze to his chest, where it was obvious the effects hadn't yet worn off.

"Oh, right," he grinned sheepishly, feeling his cheeks burn. Fred and George were sooo going to owe him for this.

Her eyes met his and her face grew serious. "Thank you," she said softly before rejoining her brothers at the table.

_You're welcome._

They were joined by Remus, Tonks, Charlie and Mad Eye Moody partway during dinner. Dinner passed and stomachs grew full. Gradually the light conversation lulled and the room fell silent. A tension that Harry hadn't noticed before hung in the room. Remus directed Harry with a firm gaze.

"Well, I guess you'll be wanting to know what's been going on, then."

Harry's ears perked up. "Yes, I've been following the news but I haven't seen anything that looked like Voldemort."

"Well, you wouldn't. He's been…"

Remus was interrupted by a soft "ahem." Harry turned to Mrs. Weasley who looked ready to argue that Harry shouldn't be hearing this. But as if remembering a similar argument last year and how it turned out, she didn't. Instead she turned to her youngest, who had been watching the conversation with a rapt expression.

"Ginny."

Harry expected a tantrum, like last year's, or at least an outburst. But the redheaded girl simply rolled her eyes and stood to her feet.

"I know, I know. Time for bed. Goodnight everyone. G'night, Harry." She ruffled his already messy hair as she passed, causing him to smile briefly.

"So…Voldemort?" Harry prompted, hungry for information.

"Well, you haven't hard of any attacks because there haven't been any. Voldemort's been lying low."

"Which doesn't make sense," Bill spoke up. "It's not like last year when the Wizarding world didn't know he was back. You'd think that now that the truth is out he'd unleash everything he has before he loses the element of surprise. By lying low, he's just giving us more time to prepare."

"An all-out attack, though, is the stupidest move he could make," Ron argued. "And unfortunately, he probably knows that. Look, in chess, the first thing you do is move your pieces into position. Only after you have all your men in place do you begin offensive maneuvers. You-Know-Who has to get his army together before he can even think of attacking."

"And that's precisely what he's doing; building his army," Remus said. "You already know about the dementors, plus the Death Eaters that were put in Azkaban last June have already broken out and rejoined him. The number of Death Eaters is growing daily, made up of both new and long time supporters of Voldemort. Unfortunately, we're having a hard time discovering who they are or even how many there are. It's not a stretch to say that the number of Death Eaters that you saw in the graveyard have probably quadrupled since then."

Harry frowned. "So we're looking at about 50 Death Eaters as a guess. That doesn't sound like a whole lot – I mean, in the big picture, not when you pit them against the Ministry Aurors and Order members," he said.

"He didn't have much more than that in the first war," growled Moody. "Yet, he and his Death Eaters managed to terrorize the Wizarding community for years. A lot of his dirty work isn't done by his Death Eaters, but by fairly decent witches and wizards under forcible coercion or the Imperious Curse. Besides," he said with a dark sigh, "it only takes one person to cast the killing curse. As long as they are willing to kill and we aren't, we will always be at a disadvantage. It won't matter how many people we have on our side."

"His main weapon has always been fear anyway," Remus said. "There won't be any traditional military battles, not until he's ready to end it, anyway. No, instead he'll use terror tactics like random killings and surprise attacks until the populace is too afraid to even think of resisting him. And if he can play on the wizarding world's old prejudices against muggles and muggleborns at the same time, well people will practically hand control over to him, if they think that all he wants to do is remove muggleborns from the wizarding world."

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Right. Plus, we've just learned that he's managed to bring a number of giants over to his side," said Mr. Weasley.

"Giants?" Harry gulped. He imagined a dozen Grawps stomping through Hogsmeade.

"Yeah, and that's not all," Bill said darkly. "He's added a number of dark creatures to his army as well, like banshees."

"And Vampires," Remus added darkly. "Of course, he won't be able to use them during the day."

"We think he's mainly going to use them for attacks on Muggles and Muggleborns," said Charlie.

Bill nodded. "Makes sense. They aren't magical creatures so they'll be able to slip through any wards we try to put up. Plus they can move around virtually undetected."

"They're dead strong; nearly impossible to destroy," Tonks said. "And as they feed, they create more."

"A never ending supply of soldiers for his army," said Fred without a trace of his usual humor. "How do we fight something like that?"

"We'll have to contact the Watcher's Council," said Remus. "Maybe they have a spare Slayer or two they could lend us."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Moody replied. "Ever since that stunt they pulled in the States, they've got Slayers popping up out of the woodwork."

"Um, what's a Slayer?" Harry asked.

A slight frown appeared on Hermione's face. "Slayer…" She paused as if searching her memory. "A chosen warrior given supernatural strength and abilities who 'slays' vampires. For nearly as long as Vampires have walked the earth, there has been a Slayer; always female, and when one dies, another is called," Hermione recited.

"Very good, Hermione," Remus praised. "You've done your homework."

"Hermione always does her homework," Ron said with a roll of his blue eyes.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," she shot back with a smirk.

"Dementors and vampires – talk about a match made in heaven," George said. "The dementors suck the soul out of a person, leaving them vulnerable to the vampires who suck their blood. It just sucks all around."

Silence fell upon the table and Harry stared into nothingness while his brain struggled to grasp what he'd just learned. It was all so overwhelmingly…impossible.

"So we've got dementors and vampires and giants. Oh my," he said humorlessly.

"Don't forget the banshees," Ron added. He wore an oddly green complexion and looked like Harry felt.

"I'm not too worried about the banshees," said Bill. "A simple Silencing charm takes care of them. Plus, I'd be surprised if he had more than a couple on his side. Despite what the old legends say, banshees generally aren't malevolent creatures, unless you're an Englishman trespassing on their lands. Then, they can be quite nasty. And given their 'love' for the British, it's unlikely that they would leave Ireland to take orders from one."

"But his army is only one reason why Voldemort has been quiet. You, Harry, are the other," Remus spoke up.

"Me?"

"Yes. You…concern him. You've faced him five times now and you're still alive. That in itself, even without the prophecy, is enough to make him rethink his plans. And then there is the prophecy, which, until recently, he had only heard a portion of. A portion that said that you had the power to destroy him."

"Wait," Ron interrupted. "Is this the same prophecy that we found in the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yes, it is," Harry answered quietly. He hadn't yet been able to bring himself to tell his friends of the prophecy and since they weren't yet Order members, they hadn't yet heard of it.

"I thought it was broken," Ron said slowly, a slight frown creasing his freckled forehead.

"The record of it was. But Professor Dumbledore, who was the recipient of the original prophecy, told me what it said." He took a deep breath and relayed the words of the prophecy. There was a deep silence in the room.

"So that's why he came after you as a baby."

"Yes, but he only knew a portion of it, which is why he's been trying to obtain the record of it."

"Exactly, which is why he's been so quiet," Remus said. "You are the only thing that can stop him. He can't move forward with his plans until he has dealt with you."

"What do you think his plans are?" Harry asked.

"He'll probably try to take over the Wizarding community – overthrow the Ministry, kill anyone who is less than pureblood. And more. The thing about wanting power is you can never have enough. I can see him trying to take over the entire world. His primary objective is going to be what it has always been, though. Immortality. But, he can't do any of this until he eliminates you, Harry."

"Professor Lupin," Hermione spoke up. "You said that Voldemort had only heard part of the prophecy – until recently. Does that mean that he has now heard it in its entirety?"

"Unfortunately, yes. We wouldn't even know about it if it wasn't for your dream, Harry."

"Dream?" Ron asked, looking at his friend with concerned blue eyes. He knew that it had been awhile since Harry had had any dream visions.

"I had it just before I came here. Voldemort had Professor Trelawney under Veritaserum and she repeated the prophecy along with another one I hadn't heard before."

"Trelawney? I thought she was hit by a muggle bus," Fred said.

"Well, she was. But upon closer examination the chief mediwizard at St. Mungo's found that she was already dead when the bus hit her. She had been killed by the Killing Curse."

"So Harry's dream really did happen," Hermione said. "Voldemort killed her and then staged her death so it would look like an accident."

"Question. I haven't had a dream like this since June – why is it starting now? Also, last year I was able to pick up on his moods, yet I haven't felt a thing all summer. Why?"

"Well, before, Voldemort wasn't aware of the link that connect you two. Now that he is, he's blocking you to keep you from seeing what he's doing. Remember, you said that at the end of your dream, he looked at you and knew you were there. He purposefully allowed you to see what he was doing. He wanted you to see it. He is an expert Legimens – which means that you're going to have to treat any further dreams or visions you have as suspect. You can no longer assume they are real."

"Don't worry," Harry said darkly. "I've learned my lesson."

"One more thing, Harry," Remus said. "Now that Voldemort has heard the entire prophecy, there's nothing to keep him from coming after you in full force. He may even attack Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts? But Dumbledore is the only wizard that Voldemort's ever feared," Harry protested.

"Not anymore. It isn't Dumbledore who has the power to vanquish Voldemort. It's you. One day Voldemort is going to decide to test his power against Dumbledore's. They will face each other one last time…"

"And?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"And Dumbledore will fall," Remus finished quietly.

"So Harry has to fight him," Ron said, as the meeting's news began to sink in.

Harry stared at the table as he felt everyone's eyes on him.

"Yes. But not yet. You aren't ready, Harry. It's Dumbledore's – all of ours – job to keep you alive and safe until you are ready."

The three friends were quiet as they padded up the stairs toward their beds. The reached the girls' room and Hermione turned to Harry.

"Ginny's going to want to know what the meeting was about. What do you want me to tell her?"

Harry pondered this. He hadn't thought of telling her about the prophecy. "Tell her everything," he said, surprising himself with his answer. "She was with us last June. She deserves to know why she almost died."

"Does this apply to Neville and Luna as well?"

"No. Not because they don't deserve to know – it's just too dangerous. Ginny's already in the thick of everything but there's no need to endanger Neville and Luna. Of course now that Voldemort already knows about the prophecy it's probably a moot point. Also, you know how the prophecy said the one to defeat Voldemort would be a boy born at the end of July to wizard parents who had narrowly escaped Voldemort three times?"

"Um, yeah?" Ron answered.

"Well apparently there were two boys that met that description. I was one, and Neville was the other. That's why there was a question mark before my name on the prophecy's label – because at the time of the prophecy they didn't know which one it would be."

"You mean – it could have been…Neville?" Ron said, disbelief evident in his voice.

"I don't know. There's no question that I'm the one in the prophecy simply because of the way the events played out. Voldemort came after _me _and as a result 'marked me as his equal.' But I don't know what would have happened had he come after Neville first. Perhaps the events would have played out in the same manner with the result of Neville being marked. Or perhaps he would have died and I still would have been marked. That's the real question, isn't it?" Harry asked, mainly of himself.

"Am I 'The One' because I was born to be; because there's something special in me that makes me able to fight him? Or is it because Voldemort chose me over Neville and transferred some of his powers to me, and _that's_ why I'm supposed to be able to fight him?"

His two friends were silent. "I don't know the answer to that, Harry," Hermione said, her expression sympathetic. "But I believe that this is what you were born to be. There's just such a wonderful, noble…goodness and, and _power_ about you that could not have been the result of some power transfer. Yes, we know that some of his powers were transferred to you when he tried to kill you, but the only proof of that is your ability to speak parseltongue, and I doubt _that_ will help you much against Voldemort."

"Dumbledore says that my secret weapon against Voldemort is my ability to love," Harry said with a wry, half-joking smile. "Apparently, I'm going to love him to death."

Harry was still thinking about the prophecy hours later, long after everyone else had gone to bed. He'd long ago given up trying to fall asleep himself; his mind was just too full of the Order meeting and the subsequent conversation for him to be able to relax. He did feel a bit better where the prophecy was concerned now that his friends knew. They hadn't run screaming from him, and he was able to voice a secret fear he'd had since learning of the prophecy.

"nooo, I don't like it…gerremoffme…..no…"

Harry was snapped out of his thoughts by low moans from the next bed. Ron was mumbling in his sleep. His face was contorted in expressions of such intense pain that Harry jumped out of his bed and ran to his friend's side. A fine sheen of sweat covered Ron's face and neck and he was rubbing his forearms.

"nooo…gerremoff…stop it"

"Ron!" Harry hissed, lightly shaking Ron's shoulders. "Wake up! You're dreaming. Ron! It's just a dream!" He shook a little harder and was shocked when suddenly Ron's eyes flew open. Ron saw Harry and leapt at him, knocking Harry to the floor and pinning him under his massive weight.

"Ron – wha?" His words were cut off when Ron's hands circled his neck, squeezing tightly. He stared in shock at Ron's eyes that were gazing back at him – madness reflected in the blue depths.

"I'll kill yeh!" he rasped in a voice that was not his own. "Bastard! Yeh won't sneak up on me. Thought yeh could take it for yerself, did yeh? Well, I'll kill yeh firs', and tha' pretty little wife of yers – after I've tasted her, tha' is."

Harry struggled against Ron's superior strength. He clawed at his hands. "Ron! It's me – Harry! Wake up, Ron!" he choked out. Black spots were beginning to form in his vision, the outer edges becoming gray and fuzzy.

Suddenly, Ron's eyes cleared. "Harry!" He jumped back while Harry doubled over on his side, coughing air into his raw lungs. "Harry, are you okay?" he cried frantically. "I'm so sorry – MUM!" he yelled.

Harry was so focused on trying to breathe that he wasn't sure if it was seconds, minutes, or hours before Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room. She took in the scene at a glance and dropped to Harry's side. She wasted no time with questions like, "What happened, or, What's wrong," but instead, as if she were almost expecting something like this to happen, was examining Harry's wounds and performing healing charms with expert skill.

Cool, calming air rushed into Harry's lungs and his wracking coughs subsided. He was shaking now, from cold or shock he didn't know. Mrs. Weasley wrapped him in a blanket from his bed and held him until his tremors faded. Harry was vaguely aware that others had entered the room, no doubt awakened by the commotion, but were thankfully keeping their distance until he could pull himself together.

He pulled away from Mrs. Weasley and took several deep breaths to calm himself. Mr. Weasley, Remus, Hermione and Ginny were in the room, the two girls watching the scene with panicked fear on their faces. Harry looked at Ron who was almost huddled in a corner. He was staring at Harry, shaking and horror struck.

"I'm, I'm s-so sorry, H-harry. It's th-the brains. Sometimes…" he trailed off, unable to finish.

Harry didn't know what to say; he was still trying to figure out what had happened.

"It's alright, Ron," Mrs. Weasley went over to her youngest son, speaking soothingly. "You just forgot to take your potion, that's all." She led him over to his bed and gave him a glass bottle she'd produced from her robe pocket. Ron drank from the bottle, avoiding Harry's eyes.

"I just woke him up," Harry said, his eyes still locked on Ron. "He was having a bad dream – about the brains and I woke him up and he just…attacked me."

"It's my fault," Mrs. Weasley said, as she rubbed a potion on Ron's forearms. Ron was now staring blankly at a far wall. "I forgot to warn you, Harry. The brains in the Department of Mysteries were from the worst criminals the wizarding world ever saw. Thieves, murderers, rapists. The brains were once studied in an attempt to find out what creates criminal behavior in people. Some of the thoughts and memories of one of those brains was transferred to Ron. He's okay," she rushed to reassure Harry. "He takes a potion that keeps the memories buried deeply in his mind, and this lotion helps with the scarring. He doesn't remember the actual memories, but sometimes when he's emotional – very angry, or when he's startled, the memories come to the surface and for a few moments he actually believes that he's this other person. The potion helps to keep him from getting overly upset, but we're still careful not to startle him."

Mrs. Weasley got Ron settled into bed and then turned to the others in the room. "Alright, everything's fine now so let's get back to bed." Everyone expressed their concern and wishes for a good night and left the room.

Ron turned to Harry. "I'm really sorry, Harry."

Harry smiled at his friend. "It's okay, Ron. I'm just sorry that this has happened to you."

"Yeah, well, I did it to myself – that's the part that stinks. It's one thing if a death eater had done this to me, but no, it was just my own stupidity."

"A death eater did do it to you – Ron, you were cursed! You weren't thinking clearly – you weren't thinking at all! I'm just glad that nothing worse happened to you."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Well for the first time ever it's _you _waking _me_ up from a nightmare," he said with an attempt at a joke.

Harry grinned. "Yeah. I think I prefer it the other way around. Much better for my health."

Ron just tossed a pillow at Harry who easily dodged it, laughing. A raucous pillow fight ensued, after which the boys were ready to put the night's events behind them and go back to sleep.

A/N: Yes, I realize the whole Double Delights/Ginny has boobs/Harry listens in on a girly conversation - is stupid, cliched, trite, silly, immature, serves no point, fill in whatever insult you like. However, I just couldn't bear to get rid of it. Besides serving as comic relief to balance the darker scene at the end of the chapter, it also serves to advance the plot in the form of Bill's mysterious and strange reaction to the twins' teasing.

Also there is a reference to the Buffy the Vampire Slayer universe. This story will not crossover with that Universe as far as plot goes. However one or two characters may show up in cameo appearances. I also do not own those characters. Double Sigh.


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